AWOL
by dalekchung
Summary: It started with Alex Rider's disappearance. It continued when unassuming SAS soldier, Lynx, surfaced. It ended with a mission and the downfall of an espionage empire. (AWOL rewrite)
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** Hello everyone! It's me again, back with an edited version of AWOL. Updates will be **SLOW.**

I decided to post this here because some of you aren't comfortable with Wattpad, and that's okay! I would prefer you guys to go on Wattpad if you do feel comfortable with it, mainly because I really like it over there (sorry... lol). The inline comment feature is my personal favorite, along with the cool covers, the voting, and the "conversation" tab of my profile page to send you updates. I'm a lot more active over there, and you can check out my original works, as well as all my favorite stories that aren't fanfics. Anyway, if you're over there, stars and comments are my food!

I'm most likely going to post on Wattpad and forget to post here, sooooo if you want the benefit of that... YEP OKAY JUST SAYIN (*WINK*)

One last thing: Should this be rated "M" or "T"? I rated the unedited version T, but I realized that there is a lot of cursing, especially in the first couple chapters.

The first chapter is very similar to the unedited version, so please bear with me. Enjoy!

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AWOL 01

Through his whole twenty-two fake years of living, he had never experienced anything as painful as SAS selection. His taunt, tortured muscles burned over an invisible flame with every movement he made. The balls of his feet, which were so used to carrying his weight, throbbed at the thought of stopping for one brief moment.

He had been captured plenty of times in his past—being a soldier was a tough job, after all—and had been tortured mentally and physically, but it seemed trivial to what he was going through now.

He was being hunted. He had been the hunted for quite some while now. Weaving stealthily through barren trees, he was careful not to leave any tracks behind. He knew that he was going against seasoned SAS soldiers, some specially trained in tracking down the enemy. But he had been trained too: trained not to leave a trace. Trained not to make a mistake.

The Sergeant had been impressed with him the moment he had walked into the training grounds. His age was a factor for doubt, as he was younger than most of the recruits, but the doubts of his superiors melted away once Selection began. He was the fastest. He lasted the longest. He never missed his mark. He knew he would make it in, but it didn't stop his adrenaline from rushing through his veins as he ran through the trees in his thick, navy blue trench coat. The lapels and the shoulders of the coat were soaked through, and the coat didn't provide the warmth that it was supposed to.

 _Snap!_

He cursed under his breath when he heard the soldiers' boots, crunching against the frosty earth. They were close.

He ran, faster than he thought he could, but just as silent.

Cold air nipped at his face. His ears were numb from the cold, and his the feeling in his fingers were about to go too.

A small pack of supplies pressed against his rib cage as he ran, the items making little noises as he ran. He wished he could dump the items, but he needed the supplies if he was going to survive another day.

"I see him!"

His heart beat faster as he heard the cry.

Three days. He had lasted almost the whole length of the three days that were given to him. Damn it, he was not going to spend more time in Tactical Questioning than he needed.

 _Keep running._

His primary goal was to get away from the hunters. Fumbling with his supply pack as he ran, he reached for the map that pointed him towards his reporting location. He had to last one more hour before reporting there, where he knew he would be hauled away and questioned for a grueling twenty-four hours, despite what the Sergeant had said three days ago.

"Just shoot him with a fucking dart already!"

The snarl was accompanied by an ominous _whiz!_

He ducked into a roll as he heard the dart. Without stopping, he continued running, barely registering how close the dart had come to his neck. By now, he had abandoned all effort to remain silent. They knew where he was.

"What the fuck? Shoot again!"

 _Whiz!_

He veered sharply to the right when he heard the dart whistling through the dry air. He was beginning to pant, and white puffs of air escaped his mouth. Even as his muscles burned and his feet screamed in protest, he knew he couldn't stop. There had to be a point where the others had to give up. They couldn't keep chasing him forever.

 _Whiz!_

"Shite," he mumbled, feeling the needle pierce his skin, right through the vintage World War Two coat he had been given.

"Got him!" a cheerful voice said, laughing. His loud footsteps were slowing down until he was at a leisure walk. "Man, he was the best out of all of them. Loads of fun."

He was still running, but his vision was getting blurry. Brown bark blurred together with the white frost on the grass blades.

"Oomph!" He swore that the tree he had collided into hadn't been there a second before.

He lay on his back, his vision darkening. A figure leaned over him, and even with his hazy vision, he could make out the grin on his attacker's face. He tried raising his hand to punch the guy, but his body wouldn't obey him. Instead, he settled for a slurred, "I fuckin' hate soldiers," before he succumbed into darkness.

A*W*O*L

He jerked awake, his hands handcuffed uncomfortably above him. He had been stripped to only his pants. Horrified, he stared down at his chest, which was littered with scars—something that he never showed to _anyone._

He sat there for ages, his arms pinned above him as he scanned the walls. He noted the camera implanted in the wall, the small bug right next to him, which he would have missed if it weren't for its extremely glossy finish, and the speakers above him. It was playing some sort of noise that grated his ears, but facing the real deal constantly made this seem like nothing.

He closed his eyes, letting out a long sigh. He might as well try to get some sleep. Staying awake meant nothing in this case, especially because he knew that breaking out (a feat that he could easily accomplish) would result in his failure to join the SAS.

 _BAM_.

The door burst open. He didn't jolt, like a normal civilian, or even soldier, would. He just opened his eyes, gazing lazily at a straight-faced Sergeant and a female nurse, judging by her uniform.

It was obviously his time to be questioned.

He was uncuffed and dragged to another neighboring room where he was forced to stand to attention despite his trembling limbs. In front of him was a simple metal table with a single, thin folder.

"Damn," the Sergeant was eyeing his scars with fascination, circling him like a hawk narrowing in on its prey. The Sergeant halted in front of him, "You've been through a lot, I reckon."

He stood still, eyes never wavering from the Sergeant.

"What's your name, son?"

The friendly tone was a façade. He knew, and he had no choice but to answer with a hard, "I'm sorry, but I cannot answer that question."

The friendly demeanor was dropped in a fraction of a second. The Sergeant was trying to derail his efforts, shouting, "WHAT DO YOU MEAN? I ASKED YOU A FUCKING QUESTION. ANSWER ME."

He was hiding a smile. Though he knew that this was all part of the Sergeant's tactics, he couldn't help but draw parallels to an overgrown toddler, screaming at him.

"ANSWER ME, YOU LITTLE SHIT. WHAT IS YOUR FUCKING NAME?"

"I'm sorry, but I cannot answer that question."

The Sergeant hit the table with a sharp yell of frustration. The Sergeant was trying to scare him, but it wasn't working.

The man seemed to realize this. He sighed, stalking towards the door and letting in two soldiers.

He knew what was going to happen. He was going to be stripped bare while the nurse sneered at him. He would stand there, unyielding, responding to everything with a short 'I'm sorry, but I cannot answer that question'. Then, he would be thrown back into his prison. After a few hours of listening to the noises from the speaker, he would be screamed at again, but he wouldn't break.

He would never break.

A*W*O*L

"Trevor Lee: welcome to the Special Air Service. You'll now be known as Lynx."

The newly dubbed Lynx stood to attention in his new uniform with his new beret, standing in front of the Sergeant. They stood in front of the flag, right in the middle of the base. It was a familiar place, seeing as he had been there before, a couple years previous.

"Thank you, sir."

The Sergeant smiled, and unlike the smile granted to him the previous day, this one was genuine.

"I have to ask," the Sergeant paused in front of him, surveying Lynx. "How many times?"

Lynx stiffened, though he was sure the Sergeant didn't notice, "How many times what, sir?"

"How many times were you captured?" the Sergeant gave him a look that clearly said 'don't be stupid' and continued with a, "I'm not dumb, Lynx. I know torture marks when I see one."

Lynx gave the Sergeant an ironic smile, "I'm sorry, but I cannot answer that question."

He was sure that the Sergeant was going to seize him and demand answers, but instead, the man began laughing, choking out, "I knew I was right to pick you!"

Still chuckling, he stood and reached out a hand for Lynx to shake. The Sergeant gripped Lynx's hand, searching his face, "You are J-Unit's new sharpshooter. They're waiting for you in the hut. Dismissed."

Lynx saluted and left, leaving the Sergeant to award the next soldier with a beret. He headed to the hut labeled "J-Unit". Sucking in a long breath, he paused on the steps, rolling his shoulders back and cracking his neck.

Seventeen year old Alex Rider was gone. Twenty-two year old Trevor Lee's life had just begun.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** It starts getting different here. Tell me what you think!

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AWOL 02

Wales was just as cold and gray as Lynx remembered it. His issued boots, stiff and unworn, made slapping, squelching noises as he traveled down the path, which was made by countless soldiers stomping their way back to their huts. His feet throbbed with blisters that hadn't fully healed from selection, causing him to stumble awkwardly whenever he hit his sensitive heel against the back of the boot.

Lynx frowned down at his feet, but there was nothing to be done. He could complain and gripe all he wanted, but no one was going to give a damn.

Tugging his boot from a particularly sticky patch of mud, Lynx surveyed the small portion of the camp where the huts were. Each hut looked exactly the same—the facades made of the same gray, concrete bricks and the roofs, black and slanting. Water dripped from the corners of the low rooftops, and Lynx got the feeling that this was a normal occurrence. He just hoped that water wouldn't leak into the hut.

The only visible difference between the huts came into view after Lynx got close enough to see the wooden doors. Large letters were scratched into the doors, starting with 'A' on the left side of him, and ending with 'Z' on his left side. These could only be each unit's huts, and Lynx was assigned J-Unit.

Lynx found himself knocking on the wooden door labeled 'J' a moment later. There was a loud shuffling on the other side of the door, and something that sounded suspiciously like a body hitting the floor before the door flew open, sending the whole hut rattling. Lynx barely managed to avoid the sudden torrent of collected rainwater.

"You're the new sharpshooter?" the man that greeted him looked him up and down, disappointment tinging his voice. He was frowning at Lynx, looking for any unknown talents that he might have, written on the biceps of his arms. "You look like a school boy."

The man stood tall, his chest puffed out in an obvious sign of leadership. He was well-muscled, confident, and clearly the unit leader. Blond, close-cropped hair, gave his head the appearance of being too small for his body, but the square jaw made up for that. Blue eyes studied him critically, putting Lynx under a microscope and dissecting him right then and there. "Out of all of the recruits, we get him?" the man called back to the rest of his unit. Lynx couldn't see the others because the unit leader took up the whole door frame. The man scowled to himself, moving backwards to let Lynx in, "I wanted the redhead," he muttered. "Big, burly guy. A real asset, that one."

Lynx returned his scowl, retorting coolly, "He got binned two weeks ago."

"Oh, come on, mate," out of the dark recesses of the hut, another man rolled his eyes, sitting upright on his cot. He scrambled to his feet and made a few, tight circles around Lynx. "You can't say that," the man addressed the unit leader. "You haven't seen him in action yet!"

The unit leader glared at the younger man, biting back, "And you have?"

The second man was a bit older than Lynx, but stood a few inches shorter. Similar to the unit leader, the man had close-cropped hair, but it was black, and the hair on the top of his head seemed to be growing at a faster pace than the rest of his head, though not by much. His eyes were a startling gray—stormy, but glinting with undisguised mischief. He wore a slight grin that promised adventure, which painfully reminded Lynx of his best mate, Tom. What would Tom be doing at that moment? Would he believe that he was dead? Lynx hadn't told him anything before leaving for Brecon Beacons. He was afraid of leaving a trail.

"Welcome to J-Unit, kiddo," the guy grinned. "I'm Panther: communications. Our fearless unit leader and official title winner of the 'grumpiest-soldier-in-town' is Lion, and the guy in the corner is Tiger. He's the best medic we have on base!"

The medic, Tiger, shot Panther a dark look. He was older than the rest of the unit. Lynx spotted his receding hairline, but he looked as strong as a soldier should look. He had dark, ginger hair that seemed closer to a dark brown. A pink scar stretched across the bridge of his nose, over his eyebrow, and trailed into the widow's peak of his hair.

"I'm Lynx," Lynx offered.

"Take off your boots, Lynx," Tiger said, casting a look at his muddy boots. "We don't want more mud in this hut."

"Don't mind him," Panther said dismissively after Lynx had unlaced his boots and lined it up neatly against the wall with the others'. "He's like a momma bear. Anyway, where were you before this—SAS? No wait," he put up a hand, his palm facing Lynx's face. Lynx blinked uncomprehendingly at the hand in his face. "Let me guess. Paras?"

Lynx smiled faintly at the uncomfortable distance between Panther's hand and his face, "No," he told the hand. "I'd also rather not say."

Panther pouted, dropping his hand, "But that's not fun." His eyes seemed to grow in size, until Lynx found himself staring at a perfect puppy-eyed look. He could already tell that Panther was the only source of humor in the unit. From what he could see, Lion and Tiger weren't very friendly.

"Leave him alone, Pan," Tiger said, gruffly. He turned his gaze on Lynx, "You better enjoy your last day of freedom, kid. We'll be evaluating you the whole day tomorrow."

Lynx nodded in response to the older soldier.

"I don't know why the Sergeant assigned you to us," Lion said, his voice low. Suddenly, both Panther and Tiger had something very important to do as the unit leader cornered Lynx, "but if you make any mistakes, I will personally make sure you're thrown out with a dishonorable discharge."

Lynx met the unit leader's vulture-like glower evenly. He pushed his clenched jaw forward, "I'm sure you will." He didn't mean for it to come out mockingly, but he realized his mistake a moment later. It was too late to take back his biting tone, so he pushed past the blond-haired man and towards the only unoccupied cot. His rucksack had already been brought there, small and lumpy as ever.

Lynx hadn't even reached the foot of his cot when he noticed the odd way that it was tilted and the half-opened zippers. A book hung halfway out of the smallest pockets, as well as a couple of crumpled gray shirts. Someone had rifled through his belongings.

The others seemed to know why Lynx was staring at his rucksack oddly. Tiger nodded to Panther calmly, "It was him."

Panther was immediately on the balls of his feet, protesting, "It was _not!"_

Lynx rolled his eyes and pulled the book from the zippers. "It's not like I have a lot of personal belongings," he said, shoving the gray shirts back into the rucksack, then placing the backpack on the small, metal table by his cot.

" _Jane Eyre?"_ Panther ignored the fact that everyone knew he committed the crime and instead, peered curiously at the thick novel in Lynx's hand. Lynx wasn't sure if he should be annoyed at the perky man or laugh at him. Panther flitted over from his cot to Lynx's. "What's that about?"

"Would you like to read it?" Lynx grinned in amusement, trying to pass it over to Panther. Truthfully, _Jane Eyre_ was one of his old school books that Lynx had never gotten around to reading.

Panther's face automatically crinkled in disgust as he held up his hands in surrender and backed up, "No, no. I hate books."

"He's joking," Tiger said in a monotone voice, lounging on his cot and watching them over a magazine with Emma Watson plastered to the front. "He can't read."

"Hey! I can read!" Panther yelped in indignation, crossing over to whack Tiger on the head. Tiger swiftly dodged his attack.

"Right," Lion grinned at the hyperactive man. "Keep telling yourself that."

Panther pouted, muttering, "Bullies," as he skulked back to his cot. He threw himself on it and groaned.

Lynx couldn't help but smile.

A*W*O*L

"Hey, Lion! Did you hear? Apparently one of the recruits lasted nearly three full days in the escape and evade part of selection. Don't tell anyone though. The Sergeant will have my arse if he hears I've been telling anyone."

Lynx sat alone, isolated from the rest of J-Unit. Old habits had forced him awake early in the morning. He had claimed a table for his unit, but the first one to arrive, Lion, walked on by like he hadn't seen him.

"He's the best, apparently. Stunned the Sergeant the first time he evaluated the man. I wonder what unit he got into. Hey, how's your new recruit?"

Lynx listened. There was a small pause before Lion said, "His name is Lynx. Small kid—looks like he just got out of school. I don't know why the Sergeant put him with us. I thought J-Unit meant more to him—to SAS—than this."

"Don't feel too bad, mate," the other man clapped Lion on the back, chuckling in a friendly way. "S-Unit swears their two new recruits are afraid of their own shadow."

"But S-Unit just formed last selection," Lion answered, grumpy. He scraped his spoon along the inside of his bowl. The sound grated against Lynx's ears. "They haven't been deployed as a real unit yet."

"What is it today? Dog meat?"

Lynx's attention was drawn away from Lion's gripes about him. Panther had arrived in the dining hall, and it seemed like he wanted to let everyone know. He was standing in line for his portion of breakfast, which so happened to be a bowl of quivering, gray oatmeal, a small plate of dull yellow scrambled eggs, and a couple strips of meat that were trying their best to pass off as sausages. They didn't taste anything like sausages, but Lynx ate them anyway.

The soldiers closest to the line turned to watch Panther in amusement. He launched into a tirade about the importance of breakfast (Lynx was surprised at his depth of knowledge) and a crazy story about how the cooks could have gotten the 'dog meat'. Lynx found himself chuckling along with the other soldiers.

Tiger walked in to the dining hall a moment later, his eyes sliding directly onto the younger man. He strode forward and whacked him on the back of the head, then muttered something that Lynx couldn't catch. Panther slunk away, his tray in his hand—the 'dog meat' absent.

Panther's eyes landed on Lynx almost right away as he weaved around the tables, greeting friends in different units. He raced over and plopped into his seat, grinning.

"Lynx! Great news! Do you want to hear it?" Panther leaned forward, grabbing his fork and stabbing his scrambled eggs with enthusiasm. "Wait, we should probably wait for Tiger and Lion. Lion! Come here!" The last part was directed at the unit leader, a couple of tables behind them.

"After your evaluations," Panther nodded at Lynx once everyone was settled and giving them their full attention, "there's going to be a seminar. With selection and all, the Sergeant didn't tell us what it was going to be about, but I bumped into him just now—"

Tiger held up a finger, stopping Panther, " _Bumped_ into him? What did you do this time?"

Lynx was sure that a six foot something, bulky soldier couldn't have resembled anything close to a mother, but he was proven wrong. Tiger seemed to forgo the stereotype of his image.

"What?" Panther sounded outraged, as he paused, mid-bite, "I didn't do anything, thank you very much."

Lion and Tiger let out twin disbelieving snorts.

Panther stuck his tongue out before turning away from them and focusing on Lynx, as if the two soldiers weren't there, "It's about covert operations. And guess what else? SIS is coming in to talk about it. Specifically, _MI6_." Panther was grinning widely, nudging Lynx like he was supposed to start hopping around with excitement, but he remained carefully blank.

"MI6?" he asked, clutching the harsh fabric of his pants underneath the table.

"Yeah!" Panther remained unaware of his tense words. "They come here every three years or so, and a couple years back—before my time—a guy named Fox was recruited. R-Unit found him in Afghanistan, dehydrated, beaten, and half-dead. Everyone thought that he'd been binned in selection, but turns out he was spy material instead! How cool is that?"

"So they'll be looking for 'spy material'?" Lynx's heart raced. He made sure his indifferent mask was in place. He couldn't afford to slip up—not now. Not after all he had been through.

Panther nodded at him wisely as Lion rolled his eyes in the background, "It's what they say, though MI6 hasn't pulled any of us out of SAS to work for intelligence. They borrow us sometimes, though. The best of the best get to go on covert operations."

"This year," Lion said gruffly, "we're going to be the best of the best." He fixed Lynx with steely eyes, "Aren't we?"

Lynx grimaced at him and his arrogant attitude, but nodded his consent.

"We'll sit in the front, where they'll be bound to see us," Panther sounded gleeful as he pushed away his finished plate and rubbed his hands together.

Tiger shook his head, "We'll sit where we usually sit. Besides, the soldiers who sit in the front will barely be considered. It's the ones who sit in the back who they like to study."

Lynx's stomach dropped. Would MI6 recognize him? He never had a doubt that they would not, since all their agents were trained in looking _past_ the surface of a disguise. Lynx hadn't done much to change his appearance besides dye his hair (which was already fading back to blond). His face had grown fuller in the past couple of months (his hollowed cheeks had regained more flesh) because he finally had a steady source of food. It would help in his disguise, perhaps, but it would not deter the agents.

"Is that your excited face?" Panther demanded, crossing his arms and frowning.

Lynx turned his attention to the man. What could he tell J-Unit? That he was afraid of being caught and dragged back into MI6? How could he even tell them that he'd deserted his position with the agency—gone AWOL?

"I'm just nervous for evaluations," Lynx lied through his teeth. "What will you be testing me on?"

"The assault course!" Panther chimed in automatically, looking around at the other two. "The assault course is the best. The one they make in selection is _nothing_ compared to ours..."

Lynx could get used to this. He smiled along to Panther's words.

A*W*O*L

 _His options were limited. Run or die. There was no in between. If he stayed, he would surely be considered a traitor of the country, and MI6 would put him to death. If, by some miracle, MI6 did not consider killing him, he would be forced to work with them once more. This time, messing up would not be an option. He knew that MI6 rarely made mistakes, and when they did, they would never make the same mistake again. They would have someone following his every move. He would never be left alone until the day his body would be put into the ground._

 _He had to run. Running was his only chance of survival. He would have to choose places that they least expected. He would first go to China. He could avoid them for two weeks at most over there, and thankfully, he spoke the language. Then, he'd make his way to America—not to Sabina and her family, but to New York City. He would have more time here. The city had too many people. It would be harder to MI6 to find him there, but he would have to be careful not to show his face to any cameras._

 _It was a very good thing that Alex Rider specialized at running._


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** Hi friends... it's been a while?

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Chapter 03

"Again!"

Lynx let loose a puff of air from his lips as he stretched his left leg behind him and leaned forward so that his hands were touching the dirt. He was panting heavily, his lungs burning and yearning for more oxygen. He steadied his breathing, finding enough air to mutter, "This is so stupid," under his breath.

"Is there something you want to say, soldier?"

"Nothing, Lion," Lynx responded, voice louder than he had anticipated.

"Good," the man nodded in satisfaction. "Again. Go!"

Lynx launched himself forward, ignoring his screaming lungs, his wailing brain, and his numb limbs. He was a soldier and that meant he had to follow orders, no matter which arrogant, unwelcoming ass it came from.

"Come on, Lion," Lynx heard Panther's voice as he crossed into the first obstacle of the assault course. "Give him a break. You made him run this thing six times already! You've never made anyone..."

Panther's voice faded from Lynx's earshot. By this time, his seventh run, Lynx had gotten to know the assault course well—where he tended to slow down and where he tended to get tripped up. If he was going to be forced to run this thing, Lynx was going to make sure that he improved every run. Sailing out of the assault course, he felt triumphant, and he ran back with a grin on his face.

"Great job, Lynx!" Panther shouted from the starting line. He gave Lynx two thumbs up, a grin stretching across his face.

Lynx grinned back, slowing down to a walk. He was still panting, but he could feel his heart rate beginning to slow. With his heart racing and his blood pumping, he felt more alive than ever. His senses felt sharper. He could smell onions and garlic wafting over from the kitchen, which was situated on the other side of the base, mixed with the sharp scent of gunpowder. The popping of bullets from loaded guns from the range, which was off-site, and the sound of heavy boots brought a sense of satisfaction to him. Even his vision seemed sharper. Lion was standing, arms crossed, his face revealing nothing, but behind him, both Panther and Tiger were smiling, no matter how small Tiger's grin was.

A sharp movement in the corner of his vision alerted Lynx of another presence. It wasn't strange for soldiers to mill about the area, watching the unfortunate souls running the course, but this was different. Lynx couldn't tell if it was his heightened spy senses that he had cultivated throughout the years or if it was the way the woman in the pristine gray dress suit stuck out like a sore thumb that told him this, but either way, the hairs on the back of Lynx's neck prickled upright. Danger was near, and that came in the form of the dangerous woman lurking on the outskirts of the assault course area.

"Jones," Lynx muttered to himself. Suddenly, the high that came from running the assault course seven times was replaced by a cold, crashing wave of fear. What was she doing here, watching J-Unit? Was it because she knew, or was it because she needed an SAS unit? Balling his hands into fists, Lynx turned his attention back onto his unit, unease bubbling at a pool in his stomach.

"That was awesome!" Panther said enthusiastically as Lynx neared. "I don't think I've ever seen someone run the course seven times _without a break."_ His voice turned steely at the end as he shot a look at the unit leader, who turned his head as if to physically ward off Panther's words.

"Why don't you get something to drink," Tiger suggested, nudging Lynx forward, "and a shower too? We'll meet you at the cabin before heading over to the lecture hall, all right?"

Lynx nodded, snatching his empty water bottle and crossing over to the large water dispenser settled on the edge of a picnic table off to the side. The water rushed out of the dispenser and into his official SAS water bottle.

"Why are you pushing the kid so hard?"

Lynx glanced over to the three men, still standing at the starting line of the assault course. They were huddled together, and their voices were meant to be soft enough that Lynx couldn't hear, but when he strained to listen, he could hear Tiger's heated tone.

"He's not good enough, Tiger," Lion snarled back, struggling to keep his voice low. His hands, still clutching the clipboard and his evaluation sheet, were turning white.

Panther scoffed, his carefree demeanor gone, "Did you miss the entire evaluation, Lion? He's more than 'good enough'. I mean, a ninety-five percent accuracy with a handgun? His sharpshooting his better than anyone's I've ever seen, not to mention his crazy talent for, like, a billion languages!"

Lynx looked away from the three soldiers. His water bottle was nearly full. He let go of the water dispenser, stopping the flow of cold water, then lifted the bottle to his lips. Cold water sloshed out and slipped past his chin, drenching his sweaty shirt.

"It's not enough, dammit," Lion snapped, not bothering to lower his voice. There was a _thump_ as Lynx's evaluation clipboard hit the dirt. When Lion spoke again, his voice was tight and controlled, "He's never going to be Ducky."

A pregnant pause.

"Lynx isn't going to replace Ducky like that, Lion," Panther said, his voice barely a whisper. "And he wouldn't want us to make Lynx feel rejected."

Heavy footsteps trailed away, and when Lynx looked up once more, Lion stood alone at the starting line, the evaluation paper fluttering in the wind at his feet.

* * *

 **A/N:** HELLO! I'm back with an announcement. SpyFest 2017 is taking place in July. Go to the Revival forum for more info. We have an exciting month of prompts coming up! If you don't know, SpyFest Revival is an event that we hold every year in order to inspire more stories, writing, and creativity in the Alex Rider fandom. After every week, we have a voting period where you can vote for your favorite story of that week. Hope to see y'all there!


	4. Chapter 3,5

**A/N:** Hi guys, so I realized that I updated Wattpad, but not FFnet, so here's 3.5: insight to J-Unit. At this point, I'm just having a ton of fun writing since I couldn't write much during the semester(s), so if I'm a bit rusty, please don't kill me! Anyway, if you want to come onto Wattpad, I'm on there as dalekchung. Thanks for your patience and please enjoy! I'll probably upload the rest of the chapters later this week.

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Chapter 3.5

Panther felt like he was a pretty good judge of character when it came down to evaluating the new soldier in J-Unit. He had already, long ago, learned to trust his natural instinct. Maybe that was why, at that very moment, the usually mild-tempered (albeit excitable) soldier was absolutely _furious_ with his unit leader.

"I hate it when he does that," he growled, running his fingers through the top of his black close-cropped hair. He sat down, hard, on his cot. "I hate how he acts like _he_ was the only one hurt when we went on that mission. We were all hurt!"

Tiger silently watched him by the doorway, his arms crossed.

"What?" Panther arched an eyebrow at him. "Are you judging me now?"

The corners of Tiger's lips jerked upwards for a fraction of a second. He shook his head, "Lion blames himself for Ducky's death."

Panther snorted and looked down to his threadbare gray socks. He'd left his brown muddy boots at the doorway out of habit, "We all blame ourselves for his death." He paused for a brief moment before adding under his breath, "Figures that you would side with him."

Tiger pushed himself off of the frame of the doorway, "I'm not _siding_ with him, Panther. There aren't any sides to this. You just have to understand—"

"—that he's trying to _make up_ for his death by pushing us away? That he can't accept Lynx because of some twisted idea he has about Ducky? That—"

"—Ducky was the first soldier to die under his command?" Tiger interjected gently.

Panther remained silent.

Tiger observed him, tilting his head to the side, "Are you sure that you're not mixing Lynx and Ducky up?"

Panther chuckled humorlessly, "Lynx and Ducky don't look anything alike."

"But they are similar," Tiger pressed. Understanding dawned on his face as he continued, "Stubborn, irritatingly good at pretty much everything, dark secrets… You're trying to protect Lynx—do what you couldn't for Ducky."

"No," Panther snapped hotly, glaring at Tiger. "And you should probably get back to his highness. He's waiting."

"Just give him time," Tiger sighed, uncrossing his arms. "He'll come to realize that Lynx is an asset to our team."

His already laced up boots hit the wooden steps with loud _thumps_ as the seasoned soldier walked away.

Panther snorted softly to himself as he stood, moving towards his boots, "Yeah, well. If there's one thing we all know, it's that Lion is a butt-head that doesn't know when to admit he's wrong."


	5. Chapter 4

**A/N:** quite happy because I made a new cover for AWOL... and a new background for my laptop and phone. SO AEStETIC, but that's besides the point. Enjoy, and forgive me for the rust. I haven't written much in the past year, and I have a feeling lab reports don't count towards creativity...

* * *

Chapter 04

"You're so lucky," Panther said to Lynx, rubbing his sweaty palms against the rough material of his trousers, "that your first guest speaker isn't some boring old guy going on and on about—"

"—that boring old guy is a respected veteran and now has a say in your salary," Tiger scolded, though the faint smile of amusement contradicted his words.

Panther scowled, "He was still a boring, old guy."

Perhaps another time, Lynx could appreciate the friendly banter, but he couldn't think of anything other than his impending doom. He was jittery, bouncing his leg up and down to an unheard beat.

"Hey," the overly dramatic frown on Panther's face softened to concern. "Are you okay?"

Immediately, a hundred excuses sprang to mind, but Lynx was saved from answering as a hush fell over the room. It was so quiet that he could hear each breath the soldiers around him took and the slow clacking of heels against wood. A gray dress suit. An ordinary woman. A man trailing behind her—an obedient puppy, waiting to be given orders. While the rest of the SAS soldiers looked on eagerly, Lynx sunk back into his seat, trying to melt into his chair. Just looking at Tulip Jones sent a nauseating wave of heart wrenching pain through his body.

"Good afternoon, fellow soldiers," Jones addressed the crowd pleasantly. She crossed over to the podium and pressed a button on. A screen unfurled itself behind her. She folded her hands on top of the podium, "I am here today to represent MI6. We will be discussing the nature of covert operations, which I am sure many of you are familiar with."

Lynx forgot to breathe as the woman's eyes landed on him. She smiled knowingly—as sharp as a shark's bite—as she moved on.

"As you know, missions can go horribly wrong, and at times, MI6 will enlist your help in order to contain and eliminate threats," Jones pressed another button on the podium and the screen flickered to life. Lynx studied the screen carefully, trying to hide his nervousness with intense concentration. "A few years ago, K-Unit was enlisted to help in one of our missions. Here, I will present a case study and an analysis of the mission, where it went wrong, and the role that the SAS played."

Lynx didn't know it was possible for him to feel any more dread than he already did, but as he read the familiar words on the screen, he effectively proved himself wrong. It was his mission Jones was presenting. _His_ mission. It was so long ago that it almost felt like a dream, but as Jones read aloud the words in his debriefing, Lynx began to remember vividly the fear and uncertainty he had gone through. He had only been a child then. Hell, he was still a kid now—not that anyone knew that.

All too soon, the seminar ended. Lynx sat numbly as the soldiers began asking questions. Some were simple minded—how did the agent ever pass for a young boy?—and were rebuffed, and others—why weren't the soldiers sent in earlier?—were met with an approving nod.

"Well," Panther stretched out his arms, smacking Lion in the face with the back of his hand. The man batted it out of his face, irritated. "That was officially the most boring spy meeting ever. Her voice sucked the life out of me. Am I right?" He punched Lynx playfully on the shoulder.

Lynx forced a crooked grin, "I think the old guy might have been more interesting than this."

Panther considered it for a moment, stroking his imaginary beard, "Maybe."

Tiger made an exasperated noise, "Let's go, you little—"

Lynx followed them to the front of the room. Jones stood there, gazing imperiously downwards from the stage. He could feel her burning gaze on his back, but he refused to look back. So long as he was with his unit, she couldn't call him out without raising suspicions and questions: the two things MI6 didn't want to deal with.

"Lunch," Lion announced. "We have more training after this."

"Unit bonding, you mean," Tiger patted Lynx on the back. "The faster we can trust each other, the smoother missions will go on the field. New units and units with new members always has to go through this. It may be the worst form of punishment."

Panther shuddered in agreement.

Lynx wasn't hungry, but he loaded up his plate and sat across from Lion, mechanically picking up his fork and shoving food into his mouth. He didn't even have the energy to pretend to chuckle at Panther's announcement that he had a new theory of the origin of the gray slop.

"I'll get them to confess one day," Panther stated as he plopped down into the seat beside Lynx. "You're looking a little peaky, Lynx."

"Just the food," Lynx lied smoothly, gesturing at the glistening, gray blob in the middle of his plate.

"Aha!" Panther pointed his fork at the blob, "So I'm right. They're trying to poison us!"

"That would be counterintuitive," Tiger sunk his fork into the gray blob. "Why would they poison their best soldiers?"

"The question is 'why not?'" Lynx countered.

"Damn, he got you," a nearby soldier chuckled. He moved to sit beside Lynx. "Lynx, right?"

"That's me," Lynx gave the man a cursory once-over. "Do I know you?"

"No," the man grinned. He was missing a tooth. "But I definitely know you. You almost made me lose my hard earned title of the best hunter. The name's Ant, short for Antlers."

"That's what he wants you to believe," Panther snorted good-naturedly. "It's Anteater."

"What would you know?" Ant made a face at Panther.

The other man rolled his eyes, "We were part of the same Selection round, you dick."

Lion stopped the impending argument with a, "Ant, what do you mean that Lynx almost made you lose your title?" He was fishing for a reason to hate Lynx. The latter bit the inside of his cheek, keeping the retort at bay.

Ant stuck his tongue out at Panther before answering, "Don't you know? Little kitty-cat here evaded us for three days. Almost didn't catch the little bugger either."

"I thought you weren't supposed to talk about this," Lynx said, tone mild. He stuffed a forkful of gray substance into his mouth. Surprisingly, it tasted like mashed potatoes and gravy that was slightly too salty.

"Everyone knows already, brother," Ant thumped Lynx on the back, hard. "You're legendary. Almost as legendary as—"

"—Cub!" Panther finished Ant's sentence with practiced ease. Identical smirked stretched across their faces. "I'm guessing you've never head of him?"

"Panther's obsessed with the kid," Tiger muttered to Lynx, as if that would explain it.

"Stop it," Lion rolled his eyes. "Everyone knows he was just a spoiled little politician's kid that needed reforming and was sent here."

"Except for the fact that K-Unit saw him again," Panther nearly sang, "months later, on a mission. That's not a coincidence, is it?"

Lion rolled his eyes, "Coincidences happen, no matter what the spies say. Didn't they go to France for the mission? It isn't like it's unusual for a kid to be in France."

"Yeah, but—" Panther began to argue.

"Um, a little help here?" Lynx raised his fork. "New guy, remember? Who's Cub?"

"A legend," Panther answered promptly. "They say he passed Selection and is now honorary SAS."

Lion shook his head, "A spoiled brat."

"Or," Tiger said pointedly, "Maybe a kid that all five of us don't know enough about to make judgements."

"We were deployed at the time of Cub's arrival," Ant explained to Lynx. "Both J-Unit and my unit."

Lynx nodded, carefully keeping the relief from his face, "It sounds like you never found out the truth."

Panther looked down at his half-finished plate sullenly, "No one will talk about him. The Sergeant is under strict orders not to give out and information, and K-Unit doesn't like to answer questions about their mission with him." The man paused, "Besides, they've been deployed for the past six months."

"That's unfortunate," Lynx said breezily. "In my experience, real people usually leave real stories behind. This 'Cub' person sounds more like a myth."

Panther bristled indignantly as he waved his fork in Lynx's face, clearly about to share a few choice words.

"Calm down," Ant patted Panther's shoulder in an effort to soothe him. "He'll figure it out eventually."

"Yeah, you better," Panther gave Lynx a searching look.

"Before I forget," Ant turned back to Lynx, "the Sergeant wanted to see you in his office, ASAP. Have you gotten in trouble already?"

Lion's gaze sharpened on the younger man, "You better not have, soldier. I won't tolerate someone who doesn't abide by the rules in my unit."

"I didn't do anything," Lynx defended himself, albeit hollowly. He stood, the chair scraping back in an earsplitting screech. Unwilling to submit, he met Lion's glare evenly and continued, curt, "I'll see what he wants."


	6. Chapter 5

**A/N:** Hi. It would mean the world to me if you left a review! Question: do you like these 'half-chapters'/bonus chapters I'm doing (example, chapter 3.5)? I hoped it would offer insight into other characters as well as insight to Alex's past.

* * *

Chapter 05

"Sit," the Sergeant ordered, gesturing towards the open chair in front of his desk. His lips quirked up into an amused smile as Lynx took a hesitant step forward. "Relax, Lynx, I'm not going to shoot you."

Still not reassured, Lynx sank into the wooden chair.

"Now," the Sergeant began pleasantly. He folded his hands in front of him, on top of his desk, and stared at Lynx, scrutinizing his face. Lynx wanted to squirm back and avoid his prying eyes, but he held firm. The Sergeant smiled, but this look was far from polite. It held malice—venom that took Lynx by surprise. "When were you going to tell me?"

Lynx couldn't think of anything the Sergeant could be referring to—except, of course, the obvious. So, he rearranged his mask to a perfect look of bewildered innocence, "Tell you what, sir?"

The Sergeant smiled again, wider, so that Lynx could see all his yellowing teeth. He leaned forward, "That you, _Cub,_ belong to M-I-fucking-six."

It wasn't a question. It was a statement of truth, and both of them knew it. Lynx debated on whether or not to act dumb, but judging by the steel in the Sergeant's eyes, he would never believe it.

"How did you figure it out, sir?" Lynx smiled tiredly.

The Sergeant seemed to sense the weariness rolling off of Lynx like waves. His anger seemed to recede as he leaned back, the same exhausted expression creeping onto his face.

"You were too good to be true," he murmured, almost to himself. Straightening, the Sergeant fixed Lynx with a critical eye, "You've grown, Cub—changed a lot." The older man's gaze wandered to Lynx's torso. It was almost as if he could see through Lynx's shirt, to the mess of scars that lay within. "Different look, different skills, different person, but I had my suspicions." He grabbed a folder from one side of his desk and threw it in front of Lynx, "Then, MI6 gave me this."

The Sergeant opened it, and there, splashed on the first page, was Alex Rider, fearless and wishing for death. Lynx recognized the haunted look in his face. He stared into his own vacant eyes—the boy who had seen too much.

"And I suppose they also gave a message with this?" Lynx tore his eyes away from his own picture, expressionless.

The Sergeant closed the folder and nodded, resignation written on his face, "We both know that MI6 always gets their way—threat or no threat."

Lynx wasn't pleased with the answer. He leaned forward, asking forcefully once more, "What was the message?"

The Sergeant tapped his fingers against the top of the folder, a look of resigned regret flickering over his face like a shadow, "You're currently listed as a threat to the state. Well, technically. Jones said that if you chose to stay here, they'll use your 'traitor' status to their advantage. You would be thrown in jail." Lynx's hands curled into fists. "I'm assuming you joined us for a reason, and I would be mad to discharge you. You're welcome to stay here, but in order to keep MI6 and the rest of the agencies off of your back, you'll have to do whatever they ask."

Lynx couldn't keep the disgust out of his voice, "So the choices are to be a prisoner or to be a slave?"

The Sergeant sighed, "You should have known, Lynx. Once you start with MI6, you don't get out—not until you're cold and gone."

"I wasn't given a choice," Lynx cut in coldly.

"Nevertheless," the Sergeant waved off the hostility by placing another folder on top of the one with Alex Rider's picture in it, "you have a choice now. What will it be?"

Lynx gritted his teeth. They both knew what his choice would be. MI6 knew what his choice would be. It was utterly infuriating. It was his own damn fault, he supposed, for not faking his death and fleeing to a country with poor relations to England, but for some reason—sheer sentimentality—he had chosen to come back. Briefly, he wondered what would happen if he did so now, but the idea quickly evaporated as he realized MI6 probably had eyes watching him now. He would never get away with it. They were pulling him back into a world wanted to escape. He had been so, _so_ close—

"What is the mission?"

A*W*O*L

 _"Hello?" Alex's voice echoed back to him. It sounded uncertain, tinged with fear, even to his own ears. It was dark in his cell and he couldn't see into the other corner, yet he had heard unmistakable rustling of a child scuttling backwards, heavy chains following. "Who are you?"_

 _He was met with silence. Gulping down his fear, he turned to the chains on his wrists and ankles. He had to get out of there, but how? He had no weapons, no tools. Sweeping his hand out to touch the cold, concrete surface of the floor, he felt nothing._

 _"Who are_ you?"

 _Alex started when a ghostly whisper answered him from across the cell. He tried focusing his eyes on the corner where the voice came from, but all he could see was pitch black darkness._

 _"I'm Alex," he responded, moving forward. The chains restrained him, chafing against his already sore arms and legs. He moved backwards._

 _There was silence once more, as if the other person were silently judging him._

 _"I'm Thirteen," the other person said. Her voice was raspy, as if she hadn't spoken in a long time._

 _"Thirteen?" Alex frowned at the odd name._

 _"I had a name, but I've forgotten it," the girl replied. He heard clinking chains. "Try to remember yours, or else you'll have to go around calling yourself four-thirty-four."_

 _"I'll keep that in mind," Alex settled against the wall, trying to make himself comfortable. It was impossible against the cold ground and nothing except for the issued clothes on his back._

 _"When they come get you, don't struggle," Thirteen advised. Her voice sounded like tin—hollow and hopeless. "If you struggle too much, they'll just kill you. That's what happened to four-thirty-three."_

 _Perturbed, Alex shook his head, "Listen, Thirteen: I'm going to get us out of here."_

 _"That's what four-thirty-three said," Thirteen said faintly. Alex couldn't see her, but he got the feeling that she was dismissing his comment with barely a second thought._

 _"I have people that know I'm here," Alex insisted, though he wasn't sure why. "They're going to come for me, and they'll rescue everyone else too."_

 _Silence._


	7. Chapter 5,5

**A/N:** I kind of forgot about updating again, haha...

* * *

Lion didn't like Lynx. It was a simple matter, and all the members of J-Unit knew it too. Maybe technically, there was nothing wrong with the younger soldier, but there was something off about him. Lion couldn't place the feeling, but he had a strong suspicion that the younger man was up to something.

Maybe it was how he seemed to be perfect at everything. 'Everything' wasn't an exaggeration. Lynx excelled at shooting, with languages, with strategies, and even somehow outclassed Lion in stamina and agility. Besides that, Lynx was always so _careful._ No one else seemed to notice it, but Lion (who studied Lynx from his peripheral vision) did. Lynx was always looking, observing his surroundings like he was afraid of something or someone. He kept his comments lighthearted and tried to deflect any attention directed at him. All in all, Lynx was suspicious, even more so, now that he was called in by the Sergeant, and hadn't returned.

"Do you think he's okay?"

Lion and Panther had known each other for years, and despite the common opinion that the younger man was an immature jokester, Panther was—somewhere deep, deep, down inside him—a mature, sensitive soldier, that any unit leader would be proud of. That's why, despite his intense dislike of his new unit-mate, Lion furrowed his brow in concern, sharing Panther's worry.

"The Sergeant wouldn't do anything to hurt his soldiers," Lion said firmly. The man might have been a hard-ass, but he was a good person.

"I know," Panther rolled his eyes. "Lynx was acting oddly, that's all. I wonder if it has something to do with what the Sergeant called him in for."

Lion couldn't suppress the flare of curiosity fast enough.

"Don't look at me like that," Panther said, crossly. "He hasn't gotten into any trouble, and you're treating him like he killed someone."

Lion scowled, "I'm treating him the way I see him. He's suspicious."

"And right now, _he_ is on a mission," Tiger cut in, smoothly intercepting the two bickering couple, who were standing a mere foot away from each other, terse. "I went to the Sergeant."

Lion switched his gaze onto the other soldier, ignoring the gentle scolding, "When will he be back?"

Tiger shrugged, "The Sergeant didn't say. A few days, maybe longer."

"It's a solo mission?" Panther frowned at the other two. "SAS never does things solo."

"Your guess is as good as mine," Tiger sighed, using the tip of his boot to scuff the damp ground in front of him.

They were quiet for a moment, as if unsure of what to say. Lion hadn't noticed it at first, but without Lynx, it seemed like there was something missing in the unit. It was an important piece—one they could not function without. He didn't like that.

"No use in worrying about him now," Lion leaned down and hoisted his pack onto his shoulders. "We still have a training mission to complete, and we won't be treated kindly if we fail." He stopped for a moment to place a reassuring hand on Panther's shoulder. The soldier looked back at him, a frown tugging his lips downwards.

"There's nothing we can do for him," Lion insisted. "Let's move out."


	8. Chapter 6

**A/N:** Pft, no I didn't forget about you. Lol. Absurd. Just to let you know, rough chapters ahead as far as how they're written. I'm currently taking a three week physics class, and if you're ever offered the chance, say no because it is literally the worst thing I've ever agreed to.

Anyway, to answer **Guest** 's question about if J-Unit will ever find out who Lynx/Trevor/Alex is, I SHAN'T SPOIL. Though, I realize the unedited version of this is still up, lol. Anyway, just to let you all know, this story will have a similar plot to the unedited story, but it's going to be fleshier (hopefully) with... just _more._ Perhaps some new twists and turns as well.Also, if you've read the original, please don't spoil anything!

Thank you for reading, and thanks for your reviews! They make my day brighter :)

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Chapter 06

"Fucking hell," Lynx hissed to himself, cradling his side, leaning against the cold, concrete wall to his left. His hands were covered in blood. It was drying slightly and flaked off in little brown pieces whenever he moved his hands. Oh, yes—he had been shot. And, he was fairly positive there was no help coming. Quite the predicament he was in.

He supposed he could call for help, but the streets were deserted, and he didn't have a cell phone on him. Lynx took a deep breath, looking down at his side. It wasn't bleeding too badly. The bullet was still lodged in his flesh, creating a kind of plug that was keeping most of the blood inside his body. That being said, it didn't exactly look good either. At least he wasn't in pain. Even that wasn't reassuring. That meant he was going into shock.

"Why me?" Lynx muttered to himself.

The answer was simple. He had simply let his guard down, and it was a miracle that he hadn't been killed. After delivering the information to the human trafficker (Lynx had only learned that after the man offered him a girl of twelve), he had turned his back, believing the danger was over. He was naive to think that.

"I'm out of practice," he chittered to himself, forcing himself upright. Perhaps he could walk to the nearest hospital. He looked around, wearily scanning for any signs of human life. The only thing he could see was the faint shadow of a man and woman on the fifth floor of a business complex. Right. Not there.

It was a little upsetting, Lynx pondered to himself, to be in this predicament where he didn't know if he wanted to get help or if he wanted to sit down and bleed out. A couple months ago, he would have let himself die, alone and cold, without a moment's thought. But now, it was different.

 _Prrr._

Lynx turned his face to the road, his heart leaping at the unmistakable purr of an engine. He hobbled over to the side of the road, keeping a hand pressed to the injury. A pinprick of light in the distance. Lynx raised a hand, waving at the motorcyclist with renewed vigor.

"Please, help!" Lynx called. "I'm injured."

To his immense relief, the motorcyclist seemed to have heard him. The man steered his bike to the side of the road, slowing.

"Thank you," Lynx lowered his eyes, trying to show his savior that he wasn't a threat. "Please—"

He blamed it on the blood loss. Under normal circumstances, Lynx would have seen the rider's swift motions coming and reacted accordingly. But with his sluggish mindset and the pain beginning to creep into his side, he only registered the fact that the man had pulled out a gun, and the butt of that gun was headed straight for his temple.

A*W*O*L

Ben wasn't sure how long he had been held captive in the heart of Nigeria. It hadn't been too long, he was sure of that, since his phone still had battery. No signal or SIM card, but it was hovering at a two percent at the moment. It was also disheartening to learn that MI6 either had no clue where he was or couldn't be bothered to come rescue him. He was leaning towards the latter reasoning. Though he was a fairly good agent, he was expendable. He was no Alex Rider.

Alex had been chosen purely due to his family relations and his boyish face—at least, at first. Then, he had proved himself over and over again how much of a real asset he was. It was his resilience—his ability to seemingly bounce back from anything the world threw at him. Torture? No problem. Going into a mission with only scraps of information? Agent Alex Rider was your man. Then again, it may have been his indifference towards living that made him such a great MI6 agent.

Ben couldn't lie and say that he sometimes resented the younger man. He couldn't even walk through MI6 without someone pointing him out to a new recruit, whispering, "that guy, right there—that's Agent Rider's partner." But, for all that it was worth, he loved Alex too. The teen was like a younger brother to him, although he had never had one. Even though Alex was the senior agent, Ben had always felt a fierce need to protect the younger man, right up until his disappearance and even past then.

Since his disappearance six months ago, Alex hadn't been Ben's partner. In fact, no one had. That left Ben taking solo missions, one of which happened to be this one: a Nigerian human trafficking ring that specialized in selling young girls.

And now, there he was: a failed undercover spy, beaten and bruised in the cellar of some criminal's lair. He had no way of contacting MI6 or anyone. Out of all the ways he thought he would go out, it certainly was not being kept as a prisoner until hopelessness consumed him.

 _"Ya fi nauyi fiye da na yi tunani."_

Ben sat up straight, ignoring the sudden, twinging pain in his body. The voice came from above him, where the stairs lead to an iron cast door. Heavy footsteps pounded down, into the cellar, unsteady and clearly holding a heavy load. Ben didn't speak Hausa fluently, but he knew enough to learn that they were carrying a 'he' and 'he' was heavier than he looked.

"Shut up and move," an answering voice growled back to the first man in accented English. "Hazika will want to see us."

"Yes, yes," the other man, sounding very much like a grumpy teenager, replied. "The woman you love, but who will not look your way."

"Shut up!" the second man snapped again, agitated. Ben watched as the reached the foot of the steps and inched towards the center of the cellar, where the dumped a body unceremoniously. The man (not corpse, thankfully) let out a small moan of pain as they roughly searched his pockets.

"Let's go," the second man said when they had come up empty—handed, not sparing a glance at Ben. The two men gave the body on the ground another filthy look before turning away and marching back up the stairs. "That shit-head woke up halfway through the plane ride and tried killing me— _again!"_

Ben paid no mind to the slamming of the doors and the shrieking grind of the lock as he crawled over to the man. His hair was cut short, and if Ben had to wager a guess, he would think that the man's hair was blond. Not that it mattered, since it was stained with dried blood, which must have been red at first, but had since then dried out to a rusty brown. Ben's eyes wandered down to the man's face. A set of closed eyes, a sharp jawline, and a pang of familiarity sent Ben reeling backwards.

"Alex?"

The man didn't stir. He was knocked out cold upon further examination. Ben sighed, running his bloodied hands through his own matted hair. Now that he looked closer, there was no mistaking it. Alex Rider, the bloody teenage spy that had been missing for a whole _six months_ , had been kidnapped and coincidentally ended up with Ben, the very person Alex hated.

Ben's eyes wandered down to Alex's abdomen, where there seemed to be an abnormal stain on his shirt. He had written it off at first as being a strange pattern, but upon further inspection, he realized it was the same color as the dried blood matted in Alex's hair.

"Shit," Ben muttered as he lifted up the shirt, examining the wound in Alex's side. It had been a recent wound—perhaps a few hours ago—and there was no ambiguity in what kind of wound it was. He didn't have any clean bandages or clothes on him, but he ripped at the hem of his shirt until it was a long strip of cloth. He began bandaging it, trying to ignore the way that Alex's pale, clammy skin burned—a sure sign of a fever—and how the wound was bleeding sluggishly. "Shit, shit, shit!"

Ben was pretty sure the procedure after getting shot was going straight to a hospital to ensure there wasn't any organ damage, but looking around, he couldn't help but notice that there was not a hospital in sight.

"Please hang in there, Alex," Ben murmured to the younger man, tying up the dirty, makeshift bandage. He leaned forwards, cradling Alex's head onto his lap, closed his eyes, and issued his first prayer for the first time in years.


	9. Chapter 6,5

**A/N:** Okay, YES I FORGOT ABOUT UPDATING AGAIN. PLEASE FORGIVE ME. But just to update you, I got a 4.0 in my physics class :D

* * *

Chapter 6.5

"What are you doing?"

"Trying to get out of here," Alex replied through gritted teeth as he tried twisting his plastic fork into a thinner, slender piece. The idea was that he could use it to pick the locks around his hands and feet, though so far, it had proved to be impossible. The plastic wasn't sturdy enough, and he could barely make out where the locks were located.

"Is it working?" Thirteen asked after a moment. She sounded almost—hopeful?

Alex paused. Though he didn't know the girl very well, Alex knew that Thirteen had given up very early on. She sat at the corner of her side of the cell, shivering and defeated.

"I'm working on it," Alex replied, unable to shatter her fragile attempt at hope. He couldn't see Thirteen, but he could almost feel her deflate and slouch back. "Hey, I'm going to get us out of here, okay? I promise."

Thirteen didn't reply.

"My people know I'm here," Alex tried to comfort her again. "We'll be out of here soon."

Alex knew it was hopeless to try to help Thirteen, but he tried daily anyway. The girl sounded so alone and defeated, like she had accepted her fate of dying here.

Off in the distance, Alex heard a sharp clanging of metal on metal. He tensed, stowing the plastic fork away. In the opposite corner, Thirteen let out a low moan, "They're here."

Alex propelled himself back into his own corner as his captors fitted a key into the cell door and opened it. Both he and Thirteen remained silent as heavy feet made its way into the cell. Faint light filtered in behind the figure, which would have delighted Alex normally, but this time, it was harsh and made his eyes water. He realized that it had been days without seeing light.

"Thirteen," a woman's voice called out behind the beefy guard, "Bone marrow extraction."

The guard lumbered over to Thirteen, unlocking the cuffs around her hands and feet. Alex wildly hoped that she would get up and fight, and that he could get free and somehow contact MI6, but no such luck. Thirteen held her arms limply by her sides, staring down at her feet as the man prodded her forwards. Mouth dry, Alex reached for his plastic fork, ready to use it as a weapon if the guard came for him next, but the two figures were swallowed through the doorway and a moment later, the door screeched to a close.

He was alone once more.

Alex growled to himself, picking up the fork once more. He had to get out of here—not only to save himself, but Thirteen and the others that were imprisoned here, used as human parts dispensers.

"I'll save you," Alex vowed, returning to his previous task with renewed vigor. "I always keep my promises."


	10. Chapter 7

**A/N:** Thank you for everybody's continued support! I wasn't very satisfied with the following couple of chapters, but I feel like I haven't written creatively in so long that I just want to keep going and going without stopping, haha. Anyway, enjoy!

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Chapter 07

"The Sergeant is furious," the words were whispered harshly from one soldier to the next in the dining hall. It seemed like the Sergeant's mood was affecting all of them. The hall was quieter than usual, and the soldiers spoke amongst themselves in quiet voices. Even the cook only argued with Panther half-heartedly for a few minutes.

"Panther," Lion's voice sounded strangled in his throat. "What the hell did you do yesterday?"

The younger soldier made a sound of protest in the back of his throat, "I didn't do anything!"

"Paintball," Tiger reminded the unit. Those around J-Unit who heard shot Panther dark looks.

"I was only having a bit of fun," Panther defended himself. "Besides, getting shot in the ass hurts less than getting hit in the face."

"You were supposed to target the torso," Lion sounded exasperated, but his lips twitched into a smile before he could stifle it.

"I doubt the Sergeant would be angry about that," Tiger reasoned. He moved closer to the other two, voice low, "I heard that he has been shouting at someone all morning—into the phone, I mean."

"They must have done something really bad, then," Panther murmured, an uncharacteristically thoughtful expression dominating his face. A moment later, a small grin emerged, "Hey, Lion, this means someone else is finally in trouble."

Lion heaved a sigh, not bothering to correct him. Panther's crimes only extended to general pranks that lifted the soldiers' moods (probably the only reason why the Sergeant tolerated them) and shooting his comrades in the buttocks with paintballs, but this? Lion wouldn't be surprised if someone had been murdered. The thought was preposterous, of course. Lion and the rest of the soldiers would have heard of something like that by now.

"Sure, Panther," Lion muttered, more weary than anything else.

J-Unit had been enraptured in their conversation that they hadn't heard the door to the dining hall swing open, but the heavy _bang_ of it closing got their attention, along with the entire dining hall. The Sergeant stood in front of them, eyes blazing with righteous fury as he glared, his eyes scanning the fray for someone in particular. One by one, the soldiers fell silent, starting up at the Sergeant.

The Sergeant's eyes fell on Lion, "J-Unit," he didn't speak loudly, but in the quiet hall, it sounded like he was shouting, "Office. Now."

The man stormed out, and with another heavy _bang,_ Lion turned to Panther, "I thought you said you didn't do anything!"

"I didn't," Panther responded, all traces of a smile gone from his face. He looked very much like the hardened soldier Lion knew he was underneath the facade of mischievous schoolboy. "I think this is something different."

He shot Tiger a significant look, which was lost on Lion. The older man's eyebrows shot up, "You think this is about...?"

Panther shrugged, "Only one way to find out," he started to stand.

Lion stopped him, "Who is this about?"

Panther and Tiger shared another look before the former leaned forward. Quietly, he muttered, "Lynx."

The trek to the Sergeant's office was quiet. J-Unit had spent plenty of time in silence, but none of it had seemed uncomfortable. This time, it was painfully so. Lion still couldn't say that he particularly liked Lynx (though there was no disputing that he was an asset to the unit). Panther and Tiger liked him. That was agonizingly obvious.

"Don't dawdle," the Sergeant snapped when Lion knocked. "In. Now."

The three members of J-Unit filed in, planting themselves in front of the Sergeant at attention. The older man sat, rubbing his temples with his fingers.

The office was silent for a minute as the Sergeant leaned back, surveying the unit.

"Do you know anything about the mission that Lynx was sent on?"

"No, sir," Lion answered promptly, keeping his eyes fixated on the wall above the Sergeant's head.

"At ease," the Sergeant called easily. He shook his head, muttering loud enough for Lion to hear, "idiots."

Though the Sergeant's tone was reproachful, Lion sensed the underlying amusement. The man folded his hands in front of him, any traces of amusement, draining from his face.

"Lynx was sent on a joint mission with MI6," the Sergeant stated. Beside Lion, Panther tensed. Lion didn't blame him. The Sergeant's tone was dark and foreboding. "The mission was supposed to take, at most, two days."

"It's been four," Tiger spoke, comprehension dawning on his face. "Did something go wrong, sir?"

"MI6 knows exactly where he is," the Sergeant nearly spat. His voice was raw with anger, and Lion watched as the man's hands closed into a tight ball on the table before him. "And they decided not to do a fucking thing."

At the last statement, it seemed like the breaths had been sucked right out of the occupants of the room. Lion waited, breath bated.

"So if they won't do anything," the Sergeant stood. "We will. Boys, I'm sending you to Nigeria."

A*W*O*L

There was something wrong. He was cold. So cold, that he could feel it right down to his bones. He was shivering involuntarily, but that didn't feel right either. Every time a shudder passed through his body, pain flared up and down his sides, like he was being flayed alive with knives. No, he had been cut open with knives before, and this wasn't the sharp pain he had felt. It was dull, aching pain. The pain swelled and dissipated with every breath, but the relief never lasted long.

"Alex."

It briefly registered that he had let out a hoarse moan.

"Alex, wake up," a pause, "please."

The voice was faint, and it didn't register at first. It came again, a little louder this time. A familiar voice. Lynx couldn't place where he had heard it before, but it served as a lifeline. He reached for it, trying to pull himself out of the unconscious pool he was floating in.

"Open your eyes," the voice coaxed gently. Something wet and cold touched his forehead, and he shivered violently.

Lynx blinked, his eyes meeting a familiar pair of blue eyes. He had grown accustomed to meeting those eyes during missions. They could easily convey a hundred messages if you knew how to read them.

"Where...?" Lynx's voice sounded like he had swallowed mouthfuls of sand.

"We've been captured," Ben wiped Lynx's forehead with a wet rag again. "They dropped you off a day ago. You've been shot, Alex."

Lynx let out a disgruntled noise, "'M not Alex."

"We worked together for over two years," Ben chided, gently as if he would hurt Lynx if he raised his voice. "I can tell it's you without even looking at you."

"The name's Lynx," he insisted. "SAS."

"Yeah whatever, kid." It figured that Ben would still be an asshole on Lynx's deathbed. "You got shot."

"Not the first time," Lynx bit out, struggling to sit up. An explosion of pain left him gasping, black dots swimming in his vision.

"It's also infected," Ben told him, watching calmly.

Lynx tried to look down at the wound, but it was covered in dirty linen, probably taken from an old shirt.

"Why are we here?" Lynx changed the subject, survey what he could from his position. They were in a cellar, lit only by two naked lightbulbs. Concrete floors sucked the little warmth he had from his body.

"They want information," Ben pointed at the various bruises littered across his body and face. They were old bruises, already fading. "But, besides dropping you off, they haven't been here for a while. My guess is that they're just holding us for leverage."

Lynx snorted, "Yeah, like that will work."

Ben said nothing.

"So how do we get out?" Lynx propped himself up on one hand, ignoring the strain it put on his wound. Swelling pain disrupted the end of his question, but Ben was kind enough to pretend he didn't hear the awkward squeak.

"There's only one place in or out, and that's the door up there," Ben pointed to the staircase. "It's locked from the outside, and there's always someone standing guard. Besides that, I don't know the layout of whatever place we're in."

Lynx tried to ignore the way his heart sank at the words, "Air vents?"

Ben pointed across the room. There was a small, rectangular vent, high above their heads. There was no doubt that they could both reach it, but the hole was, at most, one hand span across.

"Well, shit," Lynx replied eloquently. He lowered himself back onto his back. "What now, Ben?"

He turned his head so that he could see the spy. To his surprise, the man was grinning at him. It would have been a gruesome sight if the bruises hadn't faded away. Lynx glared, "What?"

"I never told you my name," Ben's smile had turned cheeky. "It's good to see you again, Rider."


	11. Chapter 7,5

A soft _pop pop_ woke Alex. It was the middle of the night—that was his assumption at least—and he was alone yet again. Thirteen had been taken the previous day for another extraction.

Alex got up, taking care not to sit up too quickly. They had drained a good bit of his blood yesterday, and he was still recovering. He tried not to think about how he was supposed to have a bone marrow extraction. Thirteen had bravely volunteered for him, stating in a matter of fact tone to the guard that if they operated on Alex again, he would probably die. They would lose a good profit.

Alex was supposed to be saving Thirteen, not the other way around. It made his heart clench painfully.

 _Pop._

The noise was closer now, though still muffled. Was it just a delusion? Alex couldn't tell. His mind swam with cloudy confusion.

 _Pop_.

Alex wasn't imagining it. The noise was closer—much closer, as if it was right outside his door. Was someone retrieving him for another operation? That didn't make much sense. Even though it was perpetually dark inside his cell and he couldn't tell exactly what time it was, _they_ wouldn't dare disturb the children's sleep cycles. That would make them unhealthy. Unhealthy children didn't last long.

 _BAM._

Alex didn't get the chance to react. The door blew inwards with such force that the first steel hinge ripped out of the wall. Blinded by the sudden light, Alex couldn't react until he felt someone fiddling with the chains around his wrists.

"What are you—"

"Keep still. I'm getting you out of here," a low voice muttered in his ear. Familiar.

Alex murmured something unintelligible.

"It's me," Ben had freed him. "Can you stand?"

Alex tried to steady himself against the wall as he stood, but they had taken too much blood out of him. The world spun at the quick movement.

"We have to get out," someone called from outside of the cell. "Now! The place is about to blow!"

Without another word, Ben scooped Alex up, into his arms and began to run.

"What about the others?" Alex had the strength for a question. He tried to turn his head to look behind them, into the long, tunnel-like corridor, but the run was making him too dizzy to see straight.

"We got them," came Ben's voice. They sped through an open door and turned sharply. "Don't worry."

Alex relaxed.

"Get a stretcher ready," Ben called. Alex caught a glimpse of dense, green foliage before that was whisked away. Ben dropped him unceremoniously onto a stretcher, effectively knocking the wind out of Alex, before pushing the stretcher straight into a helicopter. He climbed in after. "Alex, what happened to you?"

The spy watched as two soldiers climbed in after them. A medic, dressed in all camouflage, like the other soldiers strapped his stretcher into place.

"Let's go!" a soldier called into the cockpit.

Alex lifted his head. Besides the four men beside him and the woman flying the helicopter, he couldn't see anyone else. They were rising, surely and steadily, and he tried to get a glimpse of their surroundings out of the windows.

"Ben," Alex started slowly. "Where are they?"

They couldn't have brought enough helicopters for the two hundred plus children inside the complex, and Alex couldn't see any children. Alarm bells were ringing within his foggy mind.

Ben turned, like he hadn't heard Alex's question. He watched the complex, waiting for something—expecting something. Alex struggled to sit upright.

 _BAM._

They were high enough now to be safe from the radius of the blast, but even at that height, Alex could still hear it. Dirt and bricks sprayed outwards in elegant arcs, and within a moment, the building collapsed onto itself.

"Ben?" Alex's voice cracked as he turned his gaze from the building to his partner. "Ben, please tell me—"

"MI6 sent a rescue team for you and only you," Ben cut in, voice low. He hadn't turned back from the burning building.

Numb. Alex knew he should be furious. He should be screaming at Ben. Leaping at him and shaking him, as if somehow that would make time rewind itself.

"No."

"We're covering up their mess, Alex," Ben said, turning to the younger man. Alex expected to see something in his eyes—regret or remorse—but there was nothing there. He had done what he needed to do. "MI6 started all of this."

Anger. The previous numbness that had encapsulated him washed away in a wave of pure heat. Alex saw red, "There were innocent children in there! My _friends_ are in there!" He was ready to spring at Ben—choke him until air could no longer pass through his lungs—but someone was tugging him down, restraining him.

He lashed out, a hoarse cry ripping from his throat. He couldn't even recognize it as his own voice as he bucked against the three pairs of hands holding him down.

"I promised her!" Alex nearly screamed. Something cold and sharp pricked his skin, right at his neck. He bucked again, wildly trying to break free. He had spent nearly two months in that compound. He knew exactly what needles felt like, and damn it—he was not going to let anyone hurt him again.

"Hold him still."

Alex tried to buck again, but to his horror, his body wasn't responding. Was he paralyzed? No. His mind was beginning to cloud over too. He couldn't think properly. He couldn't see, couldn't feel.

All Alex knew was that he'd failed Thirteen.


	12. Chapter 8

**A/N:** Thank you for your reviews! It means a lot to me to hear what you guys think. I believe this chapter, as well as the next couple, were written when I was sick, and I had no patience to go back and fix anything confusing lol... sorry in advance

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Chapter 08

"The perimeter is secured," came a crackling voice over the comms system.

"Good," Lion replied. The grip on his gun tightened as he surveyed the gray, two-story building, which stood out like a sore thumb among the leafy green trees. It was hot and humid: the kind of weather that he hated. It made it hard to breathe. For the umpteenth time, Lion cursed Lynx for ending up in such a ridiculous place. Why couldn't it have been somewhere nice, like the Bahamas?

There was no real venom in his mental cursing. Rather, it was a way for Lion to curb his worrying. If he thought he could kill Lynx after this, that meant Lynx wasn't already dead. He would be free to continue disliking Lynx.

The thought of another unit mate's death made Lion's stomach roll uneasily. He wouldn't wish death on any of his fellow SAS soldiers, even though at times, he was ready to point a gun at their faces.

"No guards," Tiger crept over to where Lion stood, half hidden behind a tree. "Odd."

"But we're registering body heat signatures inside," Panther reported, eyes fixated on the singular door on the side of the gray building. "Do you think the door is boobytrapped?"

It was a logical assumption. There were no guards, but there must be a way for the traffickers to protect themselves.

"We'll see," Lion muttered to himself. "How many are there?"

"Three," Panther showed him the screen. The people inside were sitting, evenly spaced, as if they were at desks. "We outnumber them, if we count A-Unit."

Lion's eyes sought out the other unit. They blended in nicely among the foliage in their camouflage uniforms. No, Lion was not anticipating for this mission to go wrong, but without the information that MI6 clutched so close to their chests, they were almost flying blind. It was extremely fortunate that the Sergeant had connections: the only reason they had the location of this fortress.

"We proceed with caution," Lion said, though it was a given on the field. "We get in and get out with Lynx. The three trafficking guys too, if they don't put up a fight."

Tiger and Panther nodded their affirmations.

"Then," Lion managed to send them a crooked grin. "We have a soldier we need to save."

It only took them a moment to get in position and knock the door down. Lion had chosen to attach a small bomb to the door to blow it inwards, just in case it was a trap, but to his surprise, nothing happened.

"Put your hands in the air!" Lion commanded.

His words were met with quick _bangbangbangs,_ and Tiger quickly pulled him back, out of the doorway. The bullets whizzed through the space he had just occupied. Dust sprayed outwards as the bullets nipped the edges of the doorway.

The bullets stopped for a brief moment, presumably to reload. J-Unit barely had to blink before they were returning their own fire.

A scream of pain told Lion that a stray bullet had found its mark. He clenched his jaw in grim triumph as he changed the angle of his fire. Another scream of pain. Lion wasn't sure if he had hit the second gunman or if Panther had, but there was no time to think about that. He relished in the familiar weight of his gun in his arms as he took a steadying breath. One more to go.

J-Unit withdrew as the gunfire from the opposing force began once more.

"What now, boss?" Panther shouted. Sweat dripped from his brow, and he reached up, wiping it away with the back of his fingerless gloves.

Lion didn't respond. Instead, he pointed the tip of his gun back into the doorway. The trajectory of the bullets instantly changed directions to aim for the gun, but either the guy was a lousy shot, or he was purposefully aiming for the walls. Lion hoped it was the former as he returned his own fire, estimating where the gunman was located. The gunfire stopped from the remaining man, and Lion shouted, "Go, go, go!"

He was through the door first, eyes peeled for the threats. The desk closest to him sported a scarlet spray of wet blood, and a man, crumpled at the foot of his seat, eyes glassy, a gun still in his slack hand.

Lion pressed forward, towards the two other desks. The desk to the left was similarly sprayed in blood. Bloody handprints were all over the table top, reaching for something that was never found. Lion almost felt queasy at the thought.

He neared the next desk, gun still poised to shoot.

Movement.

"Hands up!" Lion shouted once more, pointing his gun at the cowering figure. He hadn't been hurt badly—only a grazed shoulder and probably a heart attack from the sudden bomb.

The man tentatively raised his hands, shaking from head to toe. He was sitting, his back against the drawers of his desk. No guns anywhere in sight. A bit of tension unraveled in Lion's chest.

"Where are they?" Lion spat, not sparing the man's fear a second thought. He pointed his gun at the man's chest.

"Please," the man stuttered in heavily accented English. His voice rose unsteadily. "I can't tell you. They'll kill me!"

"Check the second floor," Lion ordered to Panther and Tiger without turning around. He focused his attention back on the cowering man. "What does that mean?"

"They'll kill me if I say anything," the man was shaking so badly that he had to place his hands on the ground to steady himself. Lion's grip on his gun tightened. It was only the look on the man's face that kept him from saying anything harsh.

"Where are the prisoners?" Lion pressed again.

The man stopped shaking. Lion realized too late that the man's shaking was a ruse. He was withdrawing something from behind his back, and without a second thought, Lion pressed the trigger. A bullet sprang from the muzzle of his gun, lodging itself into the man's chest.

He slumped backwards, eyes foggy.

"Shit," Lion muttered as he moved the body to check what the guy had been reaching for. A cellphone. "Shit," he muttered once more.

"Uh, Lion, we have a problem," Panther's voice sounded distant as Lion placed the phone back into the dead man's hands.

Lion looked up at the soldier, who wordlessly pointed upwards, to the door they had blown up. It looked like it could have been a digital clock if it hadn't been for the glittering red numbers and the menacing way it was ticking down—counting down. One minute and thirty-four seconds.

"Fuck, this isn't good," Lion growled, looking back down at the dead man and the cellphone. Any remorse he had been feeling was gone. The dead gunman was undoubtedly trying to set off the bomb earlier.

"Lynx has to be in here, somewhere," Tiger called.

Lion nodded sharply, "Tiger and I will continue searching. Panther, do you think you could take a look at the bomb?"

The younger soldier didn't have to think before he nodded confidently. Besides his obvious talent in sharpshooting, Panther had a serious obsession with bombs and defusing bombs. If Lion hadn't read Panther's file, he would have thought that the younger man had been part of a bomb disposal unit, not a sniper unit.

"He's not on the second floor," Tiger panted as he checked the rooms again. He raced down the stairs and began checking the first floor too.

"He's not here either," Lion stated the obvious. Whirling around, he began checking the perimeter of the building. "Maybe there's a basement?"

The floors were bare, save for a formerly creamy rug (now stained in blood) in the middle of the room. Lion pulled it back, hopeful for a trap door, no matter how cliché that would be.

Nothing. The floor was as gray and bare as the rest of the building.

"Twenty seconds left," Panther called, voice steady and almost serene. Lion knew Panther well enough to know that he was anything but steady and serene. "Lion, I don't know if I can do this in time. This countdown isn't attached to any damn thing!"

Fear seized Lion. Not fear for himself or his own life, but fear for his brothers, his unit-mates, "You're saying that the countdown might not even be accurate?"

Panther hesitated, as if afraid of his own answer. The tiny pause was enough for Lion to shout, "We need to get out!"

"But Lynx—" Panther began to protest, but a quick glance at the clock sent him scrambling down from his perch. "The Sergeant's intel said he would be here!"

"Ten seconds," Tiger called. He was already halfway out of the door. Panther followed, anguish written across his face as Lion sprinted after them.

Ten seconds seemed like a lifetime as Lion bounded out of the narrow archway, back into the humid Nigerian afternoon. He shouted a warning to the surrounding unit, his mouth forming something he barely remembered.

They were halfway back into the tree-line when the building exploded. Waves of heat rolled from the building, hitting Lion squarely in the back. A deafening roar, and Lion was sent tumbling as Panther leapt on top of him, using his own body to shield Lion.

Dazed, Lion could only crane his head and watch as the building collapsed into itself, taking with it the hope that Lynx could still be alive.


	13. Chapter 8,5

**A/N:** Thank you all for your reviews! I have to admit I'm losing a bit of momentum, but your encouraging words continue to inspire me! Enjoy:)

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Chapter 8.5

"This mission was not yours to carry out," Mrs. Jones tried to hide exactly how irritated she felt as she unwrapped a peppermint. She popped it into her mouth, relishing the minty flavor for a moment before refocusing her gaze on the SAS Sergeant. The man stood there, unapologetically, watching as the head of MI6 smoothed out her gray dress suit. "Your soldiers made us lose a lot of progress."

It was true. MI6 rarely did anything without reason (part of Jones' personal motto of never expending extra energy to accomplish a goal), and the Rider-Daniels mission fell directly into this category. Jones pursed her lips. The Sergeant had no right to be rooting around in her plans concerning the trafficking ring _or_ Alex Rider.

She had hoped that two things could come out of Alex's time as a prisoner. One, to gain more intelligence on the trafficking ring itself via a meeting to return the hostages, and two, to regain Alex's trust. Jones wasn't quite sure the latter was salvageable, but she was certain that with MI6 to his aid, he would begin to see her in a different light.

"My soldier is being held hostage somewhere in Nigeria, and you're saying it isn't under my authority?" the Sergeant crossed his arms. "Are you fucking serious, Jones?"

Jones and the Sergeant never got along. While Jones was all about the subtle arts, the Sergeant liked brute force. Ha, as if smashing things could accomplish anything. That was why Jones didn't hold back any of her bite as she snapped, "You know very well that your soldier is under _my_ command. I'm just gracious enough to allow his stay with you."

"Yeah, and I wonder why he wants to stay with SAS," the Sergeant bit back.

Jones' lips curled up into a smile, but it was devoid of humor as she gestured towards the room behind her. The room, sterile and white, was very similar to the quiet hallway they occupied, "Yes, and I wonder why your soldiers ended up in the hospital after you sent them off on a reckless mission."

The Sergeant remained stone-faced.

"Lynx will always belong with MI6," Jones stated, her tone saturated with sarcastic sympathy, patting the Sergeant's shoulder like he was a wounded puppy. It was almost like fighting over a toy, she noted with amusement. One that she knew she owned and would never give up. She smiled again as she turned on her heel and walked away, satisfied by the way her heels clacked imperiously on the cold tiles. "Don't worry. I'll make sure he comes home, safe and sound."

The Sergeant called after her, "You should be careful, Jones. This is how you make enemies."

Neither of them noticed the careful eavesdropper around the corner.

Tiger blinked once as the Sergeant retreated, the implications whirling around in his head at the speed of light.

"Well," he murmured, "that certainly explains a lot."


	14. Chapter 9

**A/N:** I keep forgetting to update this in order to sync it up with my Wattpad, lol. I have up to chapter 11.5 on there, but hang in there. I might remember soon. Thank you all for your wonderful reviews! It is much appreciated:)

Just to address the fact that the chapters have been painfully short: yes, I know and feel your pain. Bear in mind that the "half-chapters" are supposed to be shorter. They're just pieces and scenes that I can't seem to fit in anywhere else. I've tried combining the regular chapters and the half chapters to make one larger one, but it just feels so awkward and I can't stand it. If it doesn't really flow to me, I'm sure it will be painfully obvious to you guys that it sucks, haha. But I appreciate the honest feedback, and I'll try my best to make chapters longer! Please don't let this deter you from reading though!

Anyway, onwards! Let's get to know Ducky a bit more...

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Chapter 09

"Hey Lion!"

Lion whipped around at the voice, heart stuttering at the sudden intrusion. He stopped short when he saw the younger man panting, bent over like a prawn, his hands on his knees. The man looked up, wiping away sweat from his hairline, hazel eyes sparkling with laughter.

"Oh no," unwittingly, Lion's lips formed a lopsided grin. "What did you do this time?"

"Why is that always your first question?" the man complained. The smile never left his face as he stood up straight. Even then, he was still a head shorter than Lion. "If you must know, Pan's after me."

"For?"

"He thinks I put dye into his body wash," the younger man's face morphed into one of perfect innocence. He twiddled his thumbs casually.

Lion eyed him suspiciously, "And did you?"

The man hesitated, "No... Well, maybe?"

"Ducky," Lion drew out his name in a warning tone.

"Please, just cover me!" Ducky threw up his hands, glancing back behind him. Past the younger man, Lion spotted a baby blue Panther racing up the hill, obviously livid. "Bye!"

Lion only watched, amused, as Ducky raced away, looking around frantically before stopping at the based of a tree. He peered back at Lion, eyes pleading, before scaling the tree. Sometimes, Lion swore that the man was part monkey or something. Ducky reached the first of the branches with graceful ease before hopping upwards even further.

Ducky was an extraordinary soldier—who could deny that? Certainly not Lion, who had been trounced too many times by the younger man. Ducky had a spotless record that Lion had initially spent too much time looking over. After school, Ducky had joined up with the military, and not before long, he had excelled to the point where his commanding officer recommended him to special forces. That was unheard of, considering he was so young and had only been in the military for about a year.

For someone who had extraordinary abilities, Lion had never seen someone act so immature. The younger man had been in the SAS longer than Lion had, and by all rights should be a unit leader, except for the fact that he liked to cause mischief. Lion could never comprehend what could possibly cause a man to give up an advancement in his career just so he could have free rein to put blue dye into people's body wash. Lion didn't understand Ducky at all.

And maybe Lion liked that.

"Have you seen Ducky?" Panther assumed the same hunched position as Ducky had a few moments prior. Wiping sweat from his face. From the looks of it, he had been chasing after Ducky for a while.

Lion grinned, "I like the skin. It really brings out your eyes."

Panther huffed a little, "Oh shut up, Lion. Where is he?"

Lion tried to hide his amusement as he shook his head, "I haven't seen him. Why?"

Panther shot him a withering glare, pointing at his face, "Have you _seen_ me? How am I supposed to catch all the ladies looking like this? Damn it, I'm going to kill him..." The soldier bounded away, screaming Ducky's name, as if sheer volume would make Ducky materialize in front of him.

Lion watched as the blue-skinned man raced down the hill and towards the assault course, though Lion had no idea what Panther was trying to accomplish. The assault course was probably the last place Ducky would be. As the soldier faded from view, he looked up at the tree Ducky was perched on. A couple of rustling branches later, the soldier was back on the ground, feet firmly planted in the dirt.

"You're still going to get disciplined for that," Lion pointed out. The threat was empty, and both of them knew it.

Ducky puffed up imperiously, "You can't prove it was me."

Lion raised an eyebrow.

"Besides," Ducky pouted, "You would never turn me in, would you?"

The look was ridiculous on his face, and Lion couldn't help but to roll his eyes, replying with a sarcastic, "Yeah, yeah," he waved the younger soldier away. "I have no idea what you're going on about."

Ducky's smile was so bright that Lion felt uncomfortable. He ducked into a low, courtly bow, taking Lion's right hand in his own and kissing his knuckles as if Lion was a king, "You are too kind, good sir!" He released Lion's hand almost as quickly as he had grabbed it and darted away, following the same path Panther had taken.

For a moment, Lion's eyes followed the soldier's figure, eyebrows furrowed with confusion. Had he imagined the way that Ducky's face dusted pink? He looked down at his right hand, where the soldier had planted his surprisingly soft lips.

And why the hell was his hand tingling?

A*W*O*L

"It's useless, Alex," Ben called to Lynx as he surveyed the steel doors at the top of the stairs. "Save your energy."

Ben was right. Even with Lynx's new, clean wrappings and his fever reducers, quick motions made his head spin and pain flare up in his side. The door was't going to budge an inch, and he had no way of picking a lock, considering there wasn't one. Lynx descended the stairs carefully, holding onto the railing tightly.

"There's only one way to get out of here," Lynx reached the bottom of the stairs and sat down hard on the last step.

"Absolutely not," Ben didn't hesitate replying. He barely looked up from the piece of hard, stale bread on his metal plate.

"You didn't even know what I was going to say!" Lynx threw his arms up. Hot pain flared in his side, and he grunted, letting his arms fall back into his lap.

"You think the only way is to fight our way out," Ben shook his head. "And the answer is no. You can barely throw a punch or even run, and I couldn't make it out of here by myself. Our best bet is to wait for MI6 to come."

"No," Lynx drew out the word. "Look, the guards come in every couple hours to give us food, right?"

"I don't think this counts as food," Ben lifted up the bread, distaste written on his face.

"Well, they never come in here," Lynx continued, excitement growing as he formulated the plan. It was so simple, yet effective. "And if they come down here, they'll be cut off from whatever help they have up there."

Ben sat up straighter, "Okay, I'm listening."

"The reason why you couldn't escape by yourself is because, well," Lynx paused. "You were by yourself. But with me and this thing," he pointed at the wrappings in his side, "we can get them in here. I can pretend I'm dying or something."

"But what if they don't care?" Ben pointed out. "It's not like they've tried taking care of us so far."

"But they kept us alive, which means they need us for something," Lynx grinned, hope unfurling its wings in his chest. "They'll have to come to our aid."

"Sounds plausible," Ben nodded to himself. He stopped and looked up to the ceiling. "I'm going to regret this, aren't I?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Your plans always go wrong," Ben said to the ceiling.

Lynx glared, "My plans are brilliant, thank you very much."

"Yeah, right," Ben rolled his eyes. "Remember Frankfurt?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Lynx turned to face the other way. After a few days trapped with Ben, it was almost easy to forget about the past and to remember the good times with the spy, but one glance the wrong way sent Lynx tumbling back into painful memories. This was one of those times.

"Stop pretending, Alex," Ben's voice was sharp and scolding.

Lynx glared at a segment of the wall in front of him, "Stop calling me that!" He swung his glare onto the older spy, "Alex Rider died the day you decided to blow up a hundred innocent children."

"I was following orders!"

"You're not a mindless robot, Ben! You didn't have to."

Ben barked out a bitter laugh, "Yeah, and what then? Become a traitor, like you did? I like having a life, thank you very much. I have people I care about, unlike you."

It was almost as if Ben had shot Lynx in the chest. There was a painful squeezing in his chest as silence blanketed the two spies.

Ben blanched as the words lingered between them, "Alex... I didn't mean..."

"Help me to my spot," Lynx cut in. His face was blank—a stone mask in place. "When we're out of here, you're on your own."


	15. Chapter 10

**A/N:** Hello! Sorry it's been a week. I took an unexpected vacation, and I might be doing it again because I'm going to the beach this weekend! Woohoo! Anyway, I'm so excited that you guys liked Ducky. To be honest, I think he's my favorite character:)

Thanks for your reviews! Let me know what you think of this chapter.

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Chapter 10

"This sucks," Panther's voice came crackling over the comms system. Tiger glanced back to his station in the van, on the side of the road. The soldier was clearly mourning his loss of action in the field, which would drive anyone insane, but the doctor had deemed the lacerations on his back too severe for him to be on the field.

"Just keep an eye out," Lion's crackling voice responded on the system. "We don't know what we're up against."

 _Again,_ Tiger wanted to add. Despite the fact that MI6 handed over the coordinates of this hideout, they hadn't provided much else. In fact, Tiger was inclined to think that MI6 really didn't want to give them any information at all. That was quite interesting considering—according to Jones—Lynx was one of theirs.

Lynx was MI6.

Tiger couldn't wrap his head around that. Willingly or unwillingly, Lynx had lied to them. Whether or not he was just omitting facts or not, everyone knew that spies lied, and that made them hard to trust. Still, Tiger couldn't bring himself to distrust the younger man. Lynx hadn't done anything to suggest that he had any malicious intentions to J-Unit or to SAS as a whole. Besides, from what he had overheard, Lynx was unwillingly a part of MI6's game.

Tiger only wished that the soldier—or was it 'spy' now?—had trusted J-Unit enough to tell them. He mentally shook his head. Trust took time to build up, and unfortunately, they didn't spend enough time together for that type of trust to form. Tiger couldn't hold this against Lynx, no matter how much he wanted to.

"A-Unit in position."

"Copy that," Panther's voice came through the comms system again. His voice had lost the playful quality it had possessed a moment ago. "There are three pairs of guards patrolling the perimeter."

Tiger studied the building in front of them. Hidden by the night time and the foliage, it was easy to get closer than they had with their last mission. The building was erected similarly to the last one—gray and inconspicuous (if it hadn't been for the guards).

"One pair for each of us," Lion responded. Tiger was close enough to see the anticipation gleaming in his eyes. He felt the same way. They were so close to Lynx. Another fifteen minutes or so, and they would be out of here with another successful mission under their belts.

"MI6 wants to take them alive," Panther reminded them over the comms system. "Especially whoever is inside. They made that very specific."

Varying levels of assent came crackling through the comms system.

"Okay, then what are you waiting for? Go, go, go!" Panther paused. When he spoke again, there was a characteristic glimmer of playfulness which (he would never tell Panther) dispelled some of Tiger's nervous energy, "Oh yeah, and don't die."

Lion and Tiger moved through the foliage as one. They had done enough training together to know exactly what the other soldier would do. It was reassuring to know that Lion had his back—that he wasn't alone. Tiger couldn't even begin to imagine how alone Lynx must feel. To be sent on a solo mission and to be captured by himself—that sounded like a nightmare.

Lion held out a hand, and Tiger froze, listening intently. Heavy footfalls alerted him that there were approaching guards—two of them, if Panther's intel was correct. When the guards were a safe distance in front of them, the pair began moving in unison. Tiger's hands crept slowly to his side, where his pistol was safely holstered. One hard knock on the back of his head, and the guard would be out long enough to tie him up and rescue Lynx.

Lion had the same idea.

" _Yaushe ne muke motsawa?_ " one of the guards asked in a foreign language. Tiger got the impression that he was complaining.

" _Ba da daɗewa ba,_ " the second guard answered, adjusting the large gun strapped to his chest, clearly exasperated with the other person.

Tiger sprang, in complete synchrony with Lion. A moment later, and the two guards were down.

"Handcuffs?" Lion grinned at Tiger from under his helmet, offering him cuffs. The latter accepted, slapping it onto the unconscious guard's wrists.

"We got two of them," Tiger reported into the comms system.

"Copy that," a crackling voice responded. "Make that four down."

"All threats neutralized," another voice chimed in.

Tiger shared a triumphant look with Lion. The J-Unit leader holstered his pistol and placed a hand on the semiautomatic rifle hanging from his shoulder, "Then let's get our soldier."

 _Spy._ The word was on the tip of Tiger's tongue. No, this wasn't the time or the right person to confront. He clenched his jaw and followed Lion at a jog.

"How's it looking, Pan?" Lion asked.

"It's clear."

"In position," Lion commanded, positioning himself in front of the doorway. The other soldiers positioned themselves on the sides of the door, ready to rush in and start shooting, if need be. "Ready?"

"Ready," Tiger responded, nervous energy streaming through his veins. Despite his years with SAS, Tiger never got used to the feeling of adrenaline and the spike of nervousness accompanying the beginning of a mission.

Tiger tensed as Lion took a steadying breath and shifted his weight to his left foot, ready to knock down the door with his right.

The door swung open.

Instantly, there were six gun pointed directly at the figures in the doorway.

"Hands up!" Lion barked at the duo, "Identify yourselves!"

Tiger scrutinized the pair in front of them. One man was clearly injured, one arm wrapped around a second man. He was leaning to the side, clearly out of breath. His shirt was in tatters, and Tiger glimpsed previously white bandages peeking out. A pistol hung limply from his free arm. There was something distinctly familiar about him even though he was covered in dried blood.

The other man shifted, bringing the injured man closer to his side. His face glistened with sweat as he raised his free hand, "Don't shoot! We're MI6 and SAS."

"Lynx?" Tiger stepped forward, his gun still aimed at the duo.

The soldier lifted his head slowly, as if it pained him to. Lynx was unnaturally pale. His skin was waxy, and he was trembling slightly, as if standing was taking a toll on him. Tiger didn't have to be medic to ascertain that he was hurt.

"Get him to the van," Tiger commanded before shooting Lion an apologetic look. The J-Unit leader had point on this mission after all. "We can cuff survivors, right Lion?"

"Don't bother," Lynx said as the other man began to move. He handed the pistol to Lion, his face devoid of emotion. "No one left to tell their tale."

Tiger's mouth went dry, processing the words, "You killed them? All of them?"

Lynx gave him a blank look—no remorse or regret. The look of a survivor. Tiger automatically backed off, not recognizing the expression on the young man's face. It was like meeting a stranger.

"You can question him later," the other man, presumably MI6, said. "Al—ahem—Lynx needs medical attention now."

Tiger let them pass, eyes lingering on the younger, hunched man. This man that stumbled before Tiger was a cold blooded killer: heartless and unmovable. The time for wondering had passed. There was no doubt that Lynx was MI6—that much was for sure. Now, after seeing Lynx's haunted, hollow eyes, Tiger couldn't shake the feeling that J-Unit might become collateral damage.


	16. Chapter 11

**A/N:** Hi everyone! Thank you for all the reviews, and hope you like this next chapter :)

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Chapter 11

Lynx had been in the hospital too many times to count, and that was precisely why he hated it. The steady beeping of the machine next to him, monitoring his heart rate, the four blank, white walls around him—it felt like a prison, both mentally and physically. He was under strict orders to rest and not do anything too taxing for a good two to three weeks while his wound healed. According to the doctors, he had gotten very lucky. Despite the fact that his wound had gone untreated for days, the bullet had done 'minimal damage,' whatever the hell that meant. It hadn't hit any of his organs—a major plus—even though it had splintered in his side. It had gotten infected too, but apparently that was an easy fix: cut away the infected flesh and go on a steady diet of pain and medicine.

A knock on the glass door to his room startled Lynx out of his pain-induced thoughts. He glanced warily, catching a glimpse of a stoic woman, dressed in all gray. Jones. Lynx turned away, lips curling in disgust. It seemed like no matter how hard Lynx fought or how far he ran, this situation—MI6 having control—was inescapable.

The glass door thumped closed softly, and the unmistakable clacking of heels reverberated throughout the room, "Agent Rider."

"Jones," Lynx acknowledged hollowly, resigning himself to turn to face her. The woman hadn't changed at all from the last time they had come face to face—right after his last mission. She was still an average looking woman with the extraordinary power to crush all his hope, crumple it, and throw it into the bin. "What do you want?"

Jones sat by his bedside, expertly folding her hands on her lap, a smile making its way onto her usually blank face. Lynx decided it made her look nearly psychopathic.

"Alex," the way she said his name made Lynx's skin crawl. "I am so proud of you."

The statement threw Lynx off guard. Proud? As far as he was concerned, Lynx hadn't done anything slightly manipulative thus far. He shook his head, baffled at the prospect.

"I had hoped giving you some time off would help you refocus, and I was right," she said, reaching over to pat his hand in an almost affectionate manner. Lynx couldn't tell if Jones' saccharine tone was faked or genuine. "Your position at the SAS base is going to benefit MI6 in the future."

Lynx froze, "What does that mean?"

Jones' smile was no longer directed at him. It had grown sharp and shark-like, and Lynx realized she was practically salivating at the opportunities he had given her. His blood ran cold as the woman moved back, folding her hands back on top of her lap, "You're in the perfect position, Alex: the perfect liaison between MI6 and SAS."

"Liaison?" Lynx inquired, though the cold squeeze that gripped his heart painfully told him that he knew exactly what Jones meant.

"It's no secret that our agencies don't get along," Jones said, "but with you operating under MI6 and SAS, they can't deny sending reinforcements to help a fellow soldier."

The head of MI6 sounded delighted at the prospect. Reinforcements, Lynx realized, were expendable. Soldiers were expendable. Spies were not. Lynx felt sick to his stomach. How could he have fallen into this trap? How could he be the bridge between Jones and the pawns in her game?

"You'll have information as well," Jone stated, businesslike once more. The greedy glint in her eyes didn't go unnoticed. "We'll be able to step in the next time SAS wants to do something foolish."

Lynx lifted his chin defiantly, "And what if I don't want to help you?"

Jones didn't bother to hide her amused smile, "Do you think you're in a position to not cooperate? Might I remind you that you are still considered a threat to multiple agencies, including MI6."

"And?" Lynx asked, almost lazily. It wasn't a new concept for him to be on the hit list of multiple organizations. He had made several enemies in the past years, and if memory served correctly, they were still after him.

"I've been going easy on you," Jones warned. "It can get much worse, believe me." She pulled out a peppermint from her pocket. "And it's almost sad that you've made so many connections these past few months. I would hate to see J-Unit caught in an unfortunate circumstance."

Jones unwrapped the peppermint and placed it in her mouth delicately. Lynx wondered if she did that every time after she blackmailed someone in order to clean out her insides. Perhaps bleach would do the same. He barely refrained from suggesting it.

She had him cornered, and they both knew it, no matter how much he wanted to deny the fact. The question was how hard he would fight and who, in his admittedly limited circle of acquaintances, would be the first to become collateral damage. Lynx sighed, leaning back into his pillow, "What do you want from me?"

"I'm not cruel," Jones said, earning a snort of disbelief from Lynx. "You can stay with SAS, if you wish, but you'll do everything I ask you to. You'll maintain your cover as a soldier boy with no past concerning MI6. When we need you, you will answer without hesitation, and if anyone asks, SAS is loaning you out as a sniper. Your unit will be safe and their families will be safe. Oh, and of course, you'll be paid."

Jones was being gracious, Lynx realized, though, there was nothing gracious about the situation. She was blackmailing him and forcing him to lie to the people who were supposed to trust him. It made his hands itch. It would be so easy to reach over and wrap his hands around her neck—squeeze the life right out of her body. It was tempting, yet Lynx knew better.

"Fine," Lynx bit out.

Jones nodded as she stood, a satisfied expression on her face, "Until we meet again, Agent Rider."

A*W*O*L

Lynx was discharged the following day, which was a relief—not just because the hospital was a prison meant to drive someone insane. Ben had been trying his best to get Lynx's attention, but the soldier didn't want to have any part in whatever conversation the spy thought they needed to have. Lynx meant what he said to Ben: he was on his own from now on. Whatever misguided brotherly affections the spy had for him, Lynx wasn't going to tolerate the spy leering at him from outside his hospital room (surprisingly, Lion had been the one to fend him off) or trying to use Lynx's identity as some kind of blackmail.

"Need help?" Tiger's quiet voice broke Lynx out of the thirtieth creative way he could kill Ben without anyone noticing either of their absences. He realized, slightly startled, that he was standing a meter away from their designated car, staring intently at the open door. Nodding to Lynx's bandaged side, Tiger said, "That must be causing a few problems."

Tiger was right, but the duffle bag that Lynx carried didn't contain much—only a spare change of clothes, a new phone that Jones had supplied, and a book with tranquilizing darts in its spine. Lynx wasn't quite sure what the purpose of the last object was for, but Jones had assured him that Smithers wanted him to keep it for sentimental reasons. He would have to hide the book, just in case Panther got his paws on it and accidentally knocked Lion out. That would be a disaster.

"I'm fine," Lynx shot the soldier a sheepish smile. "I just got lost in thought for a while."

"About?" Tiger prompted, taking Lynx's duffle bag anyway and placing it in the boot.

Lynx shot the soldier a cheerful smile, "Nothing in particular. Just how I'm not going to be able to do _anything_ for a few weeks."

He hoped that Tiger couldn't see through his lie. The soldier was always quiet, surveying others like they were puzzles in a larger game. It made Lynx anxious. How much did he know, if anything at all? He settled on easing himself into the backseat without jarring his wound.

"Lynx," Tiger paused by the open door, his eyes boring into Lynx's. For a moment, they stared at each other—Tiger with a certain, quiet determination and Lynx with an innocent, confused look. "What made you join SAS?"

For a brief, heart stopping moment, Lynx thought the man was referring to the conversation he'd had with Jones just a few hours ago. He forced his muscles to relax as he stared back at Tiger, eyes half-lidded, "Why else would anyone else want to join? To serve and protect, of course."

Tiger didn't look convinced, "That's what you say on applications and to higher-ups," he crossed his arms. "Why did you join?"

The other man was fishing for something else, it seemed. Lynx had no clue why he would, unless he had given Tiger a reason to suspect him, which Lynx was fairly certain he hadn't. Then again, with MI6 reappearing in his life, Lynx wasn't sure what Tiger had pieced together. Lynx sighed. The only way Tiger would be appeased was if he told the truth.

"I was running from something in my past."

Not the whole truth, Lynx decided, but enough to keep the soldier from poking his nose in places it didn't belong. Only God knew what Jones would do to Tiger if he continued to prod.

Some of the tension in Tiger's shoulders dissipated as he nodded and stepped back from the door. So—Lynx determined—the ambiguity in his response had worked.

"You know," Tiger's eyes were no longer fiery with fierce protectiveness, which Lynx realized a little too late that it was protectiveness for J-Unit. He almost radiated with sympathy as he continued, "You could tell us about it. Lion and Panther wouldn't judge you, and neither will I."

Did Tiger know something?

Lynx shook his head slowly, taking the time to carefully choose his words, "Sometimes, the best thing to do is to let go of our pasts." And that was what Lynx wanted to do.

"And sometimes," Tiger's eyes were filled with fierce determination once more, "the best thing to do is to let your friends help you battle your demons."

This kind of battle, Lynx wanted to say, wasn't one anyone could win.


	17. Chapter 11,5

**A/N:** Okay, first of all, I would like to apologize for suddenly dropping off of the face of the Earth. No, I swear I didn't forget about you guys. I was having issues with my creative well running dry. Originally, I tried passing it off as being busy with SpyFest, then with an online writing course... then I just had to sit down and force myself to write. You'll probably feel the awkwardness in Chapter 13.5, which I rewrote about five different times. Anyway, sorry that this is a short half-chapter, but I swear I'll make it up to guys! I'm leaving on vacation, but once I settle in the hotel room, I'll post the next chapter :)

Thank you all for your patience and your reviews! They've been my fuel to push through this block, so big hugs all around.

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Chapter 11.5

Wolf hated Afghanistan. He hated how dry the air was—how every time he opened his mouth, it felt like his saliva was evaporating and sand was filling his mouth. He hated the oppressive heat and the way that his skin and clothes were always damp with his own sweat. What he would give to be back in cold, rainy Brecon Beacons, and finally, he was going back.

"Wolf," from his right, Eagle gave him a mock-concerned look, "You do realize that you look like you're about to murder someone, right?"

"He always looks like that," Snake grinned from across them.

"I'm just happy to be going back," Wolf crossed his arms defensively. "I can't wait to feel cold again."

"Are you sure it's not because you can't wait to shout at the new recruits?" Armadillo chimed in from Snake's side. Out of K-Unit, he was the newest, having joined two years ago. Perhaps a few years ago, Wolf would have sneered at the soldier, claiming his inexperience was a liability, but he had learned since then. A certain, young boy had changed his perspective, and Wolf still thought about him now and then. Where did he go? Did he leave the world of soldiers and spies for good? Wolf certainly hoped so. It wasn't a world for children to play in.

He couldn't smother the smile Armadillo's words brought to his face. The Sergeant had promised that K-Unit would oversee the next round of Selection. He was looking forward to it, and he couldn't hold the cheerfulness out of his voice as he replied, "Maybe."

"We're landing in a few minutes," the pilot called back to them over the roaring engine. Wolf grinned.

"We can't kill them," Snake gently chided, as if talking to a child. The other two soldiers burst into giggles, as if that statement was the funniest thing they had ever heard. Wolf scowled at him. "We still want some SAS soldiers, after all."

By the time that Wolf admitted (to himself), that Snake was most likely right, they had landed, and Wolf was dutifully marching, with K-Unit on his tail, to the Sergeant's office. Even though they had completed their paperwork, the Sergeant wanted to see them. It was because he cared, though it didn't seem like it most of the time.

"Wolf..." Snake had caught up to him, his voice soft as he put a hand on Wolf's shoulder. His eyes, however, were fixed in a different direction: on the porch of one of the huts. Wolf followed his gaze, confused.

At first, it was like staring back in time, to a moment where he was younger. Blond hair and a familiar, lithe frame, though it had grown more muscular, and the man had grown older. The man's face held the same, careless smirk that Wolf distinctly remembered. But, that was a different person in a different time. It couldn't possibly be the same teenager that had kicked him out of a plane, or the teenager that he'd assisted in France. It couldn't be Cub.

Cub looked up, as if he could sense the two pairs of eyes on him. But no—it couldn't possibly be the naive boy Wolf was thinking of. His eyes were haunted—scarred by a past that Wolf couldn't understand—yet they pierced Wolf with an intensity that made him shudder.

 _Don't you dare,_ they seemed to say.

"It's not him," Wolf said to Snake, firm as he tore his gaze away from Cub's. Snake shot him an alarmed look, and Wolf realized that he'd practically spat the words out. He shook his head, repeating, "It's not him."

He was glad, that for once in his life, Snake didn't question him again.


	18. Chapter 12

**A/N:** Hi guys! Sorry that I didn't update sooner. But, I did write a lot over my vacation. Apparently I write very quickly when I'm on a ferry—just for future reference. Anyway, some of you will be pleased to know that chapter 15 is currently about 4k words :P

Thank you all for your reviews! Let me know what you think of this chapter and the story as a whole—especially compared to the first draft lmao. *slight cringe* I can't believe people actually liked the first version. I've been cringing so hard every time I go back xD

Question(s) of the chapter: Who is your favorite character in the AWOL-verse? If I were _possibly_ thinking of writing a sequel, what would be your response?

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Chapter 12

Two weeks of peace and quiet. Ordinarily, it would have made Lynx anxious, but he simply found himself too busy to feel it—at least, consciously. Between dodging any interaction with K-Unit (which was surprisingly harder than he imagined because Wolf was doing his best to seek him out) and keeping a weary eye on Tiger, Lynx didn't have time to think about MI6's missions. Until now.

Lynx exhaled slowly, keeping his breath even and soft. Cold, night time air filtered in through the slightly open window by his cot, and Lynx welcomed it as a breeze blew softly over his face. He looked down at the phone Jones had given him again. The light was blinding, but Lynx's eyes adjusted a moment later so that he could read the bold letters on the screen.

 _Operation Romeo._

Lynx scowled at the name of the mission. It was obvious where MI6 had gotten the inspiration for the name from. Juliet Wood, the daughter of an important government official, had been on holiday in America when she was abducted by the poolside. Even with a dozen guards all watching the pool, the perpetrators had gotten away, leaving behind a simple note. The note, addressed to Joseph Wood, demanded three items before they would release Juliet. First, a lump sum of a million dollars, delivered to a certain address. Second, information about America's top secret nuclear weapons and nuclear plans. Third, a presidential pardon for what they would do with the weapons. Lynx wasn't quite sure that was how it worked, but the threat was serious enough for MI6 and CIA to scramble. It was clever. If American officials didn't cooperate, they would have problems with the United Kingdom. If they did cooperate, America would have to deal with their own weapons in the hands of terrorists. Lynx's lips twitched into a wry smile. _Radicals,_ as the terrorists liked to call themselves.

Lynx examined the picture of Juliet Wood in the file. She was pretty, he supposed. She was on the cusp of adulthood—just a month before her eighteenth birthday. With wide, innocent, blue eyes and curly, dark hair, Lynx supposed she played a fair Juliet, but to call him _Romeo_? He shook his head with mild distain.

Lynx returned to the digital file. He didn't understand why he or MI6 were needed. Besides the obvious, the CIA should be able to handle this on their own. He continued to scan the document before his eyes landed on the reason itself. Apparently, Joseph Wood himself had demanded MI6 to spearhead the operation to recover his daughter. That was a little odd, but MI6 had jumped at the opportunity to send an agent in.

Lynx paused at the last tidbit, shaking his head at the realization. MI6 didn't care who was leading the operation. They wanted to get their hands on the classified information the Americans had. Specifically, their weapon plans. Since his objective was to rescue Juliet Wood, Lynx doubted it was his job to secure the information. He was merely another pawn, set up to dance a little in front of the CIA to distract them. Lynx disapproved. What would happen if the CIA found out MI6 was trying to steal their classified information? Nothing good, he knew. Then again, maybe it was a good idea to gauge the firepower America possessed. They were getting progressively more volatile every year.

Lynx dismissed the thought. It was none of his concern. His task was to ensure Juliet would come out of this, alive and safe. To do this, he had to go undercover as Dylan Morgan, the son of the radical Tyler Morgan. Tyler Morgan wasn't a real person, of course, but rather, a CIA agent placed to gather intel on the radical group.

Doubt flickered at the back of Lynx's mind. Why would MI6 send him in undercover? It would make more sense to take a few units of soldiers and strike the location where Juliet was being held. Even if Lynx wanted to voice his concerns, there would be no one to listen to him. Jones would knock his questions away with a barely suppressed smirk and a "your job is to follow orders." Lynx tried to resign himself to the fact that maybe the CIA hadn't located where she was being held. Maybe, if a strike was planned and executed, the radicals would retreat and would not be able to be found again. Yes, Lynx nodded to himself. That was probably it. Yet, he couldn't banish the lingering doubt.

His doubt didn't matter either way. Raising concerns would be like shouting at a brick wall. His attempts would be fruitless, and the wall would still be unyielding. It was better to focus his efforts on what he could do, like saving both himself and Juliet.

The organization didn't have a formal name as it was just forming, but rumors had been circulating that the group would declare itself to be "Save Our Planet," or SOP for short. SOP didn't sound like it was a horrible radical group, but then again, the name didn't accurately portray who and what they were. They advocated several things. First, cannibalism—specifically, murdering and eating those of the lower class and turning it into a new type of economy. Lynx shuddered at that. SOP claimed that Earth was becoming overpopulated, and in order to reduce the population, children of the lower class should be eliminated. Second, SOP wanted to eliminate half of the population by sending nukes. Lynx was trying hard not to argue with crazy, but he was failing on this front. Third, SOP wanted to kill everyone over the age of sixty-two in order to address the huge national deficit that social security was causing.

Lynx shook his head, unable to comprehend what SOP was proposing before committing the facts to his memory. Whoever he faced, Lynx had to be charming and convincing. He—Dylan Morgan—had to support the cause.

Sighing, Lynx shut off his phone and rested his chin on top of his pillow. The mission seemed easy enough. Work his way to gain enough trust to locate where Juliet was. Figure out a way to get Juliet out. Get Juliet out. Easy. Lynx thought again for another second. Right, he had forgotten the part where he'd probably be running for his life, since both the CIA and MI6 had neglected to tell him where exactly he should bring Juliet. He dismissed the complaint with the fact that Tyler might know more information.

Lynx rolled onto his back, trying to stay silent. His cot creaked, but after a quick glance to his unit-mates, he relaxed. They hadn't woken up. Small mercies, he guessed, since the helicopter was already on its way to his location, and he had about fifteen minutes before he would be carted out of the country.

His eyes landed on one of the sleeping figures: Tiger. The man was still and stoic, even in his sleep, but Lynx could see that the lines that appeared on his forehead during the daytime were gone. Lynx wasn't sure what to make of the older soldier. Though Tiger didn't speak about his odd questions about Lynx's reasons to join SAS, Lynx was always watching him. It unnerved him that Tiger might know something about his past: something that caused him to question Lynx's loyalty. He didn't know what to think, but was aware of the slight sting of—what was that, betrayal?—he felt. Lynx had considered Tiger to be an important ally, if not a friend.

Lynx's eyes slid past the soldier to the next cot, where Panther twitched. A small smile surfaced on his face. Panther was a good friend, though Lynx had been tempted to kill him seven separate times in the last two weeks due to both of their physical restrictions. Panther was immature, for sure, but it always brought a smile to J-Unit's faces. Lynx thought that maybe Panther did that on purpose. He hoped that, even if this working-for-MI6-and-SAS-thing blew up in his face, Panther would be on his side.

Lion, on the other hand, was a strange enigma that Lynx couldn't understand. He thought that the older man had felt threatened when Lynx joined, seeing as (Lynx didn't want to sugarcoat it) he excelled in all areas, but something had changed. Lion wasn't nice to him now, but he wasn't openly hostile, and sometimes, Lynx caught him staring with an odd look on his face. Not knowing what that was supposed to mean, Lynx resolved to monitoring Lion too.

It was wearing Lynx down. He felt like he was on another mission, where he couldn't trust anyone. It was a weary and lonely task: one that Lynx wanted to get away from.

He sighed, looking back at the dark phone in his hand. What if he ran away again? Maybe this time, he could go to France or to Spain. He wouldn't have a problem fitting in there. He could live—really live. Maybe he could get a job, meet a pretty girl, and settle down for the rest of his life.

Even as he thought it, Lynx knew that would never happen. MI6 wouldn't be as lenient as they were this time around, and they would probably send the French or Spanish intelligence agencies on his tail. He would continue to run and fail.

Lynx's phone vibrated softly in his hand, signaling that the helicopter was here. He sat up slowly, watching his unit-mates. Regret surrounded him in a nearly tangible haze. He couldn't help but think about what would have happened if MI6 never found him. Maybe he would have had three men he could trust with his life, who he could love like brothers. MI6 ruined that for him too.

He swept past the three sleeping figures silently. Pausing by the doorway, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Maybe it was time for Lynx to ruin MI6.

With a ghost of a smile grazing his face, Lynx disappeared into the night.

A*W*O*L

Panther liked to think that he was over the trauma he had experienced six months ago. It was hard for him and J-Unit to heal, but Panther had willingly thrown himself into therapy, trying to forget the horrors of the past. Of course, therapy wasn't for forgetting anything. Still, it had helped, and Panther's daily nightmare-memory had slowly faded away.

Until tonight.

"Tell me what you know!" the man who held Panther captive was dressed in all black, his face covered. The only thing Panther could see was his dark brown eyes and pale, spindly fingers that clutched a gun. The side of Panther's face already bore markings from the back end of the gun.

The rest of J-Unit watched helplessly, their hands and feet bound. Still, Panther knew SAS protocol as well as any of them did. Under no circumstance would he or any of J-Unit divulge any information. Not even under the threat of death.

Panther felt his blood and spit congregating in his mouth.

" _F-"_ Panther's voice caught in his throat. It was almost a whisper.

The interrogator leaned closer. Panther couldn't see the expression on his face, but he thought he saw the faintest smirk reaching up to his eyes.

Panther made the same incoherent noise, rage building up inside of him.

The man leaned closer, and now, there was no mistaking the greedy glint in his brown eyes.

Panther spat the mixture of blood and spit on the man's face, "Fuck off!"

The man reeled back in surprise, and Panther couldn't suppress the laughter that bubbled up. He sounded like a crazy maniac, but damn it, he couldn't stop laughing.

Pain scorched down the base of his neck, accompanied by a startling _crack!_ Panther's laughter was cut short as tears sprung to his eyes. Agonizing pain. Fire danced along the base of his neck, down his back. He wondered what it would feel like when he finally broke free and went home. Maybe he would lay in a tub of ice. That would certainly quench the roaring fire climbing down his back. Panther saw red.

"Stop!" the cry broke Panther out of his painful paradise. With a jerk, he realized that blood was dripping down his face, coming from his mouth. He could only taste metallic blood. He had bitten his tongue. A weird noise was tearing itself out of his throat too, Panther realized.

"Stop," the voice came again, and this time Panther identified it as Ducky. He glared at the interrogator, hatred and fury dancing along his features. "He doesn't know anything."

The man didn't say anything, but he tilted his head and waited for Ducky to continue.

"I'm the unit leader," the lie fell from Ducky's mouth smoothly. "I have higher clearance—they tell me more. Take me."

"Duck—" Lion's face was pale.

"Enough!" the man roared, triumph lighting up his eyes. He signaled to another man behind Panther. Someone grabbed his chair and pulled him back into the line as another interrogator roughly pulled Ducky in front of them.

"I'm sorry," Ducky said quietly, meeting all of their gazes in turn. His eyes lingered on Lion's a little longer, and Panther had a moment to realize the look on his face was regret before the interrogator leaned over him.

"Tell me what classified information you know."

Panther, Lion, and Tiger sat motionless for the next two weeks, watching as their beloved friend and brother was flayed alive before he finally drifted into the sweet embrace of death.


	19. Chapter 13

**A/N:** Hello friends! Sorry that my updating has been really irregular. So, my laptop decided to break down, and I nearly lost everything I'd written for AWOL. Thankfully, my laptop decided to fix itself for about 4 hours, giving me enough time to recover my work before it broke down again. Whew! Anyway, I'm also back at school, which means slower updates... sorry, guys :(

Thank you for your responses! Ducky's death made me sad too... but y'all knew it was coming, haha. As for the sequel (if I don't wrap things up nicely in AWOL), it'll most likely be shorter and focused on Ben. I haven't thought too hard about it though... We'll see :)

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Chapter 13

"Alex."

Lynx opted to ignore the spy as he popped a contact lens into his right eye. It was now an icy blue color that would match his fake-father's. His blond eyebrows were slightly fuller and darker than usual, thanks to a leave in product that MI6 had given Ben to give to him. The effect was subtle. He now looked slightly older than his true age, especially since he hadn't shaved in the past two days. He wasn't sure he'd like to stubble on his face, but it did the job. Lynx no longer looked like himself.

"Alex."

"I thought I told you not to call me that," Lynx said blithely, smoothing out his eyebrows once again. "and I thought I made it clear that I didn't want to associate myself with you again."

Lynx caught the crestfallen look on Ben's face in the mirror. It was almost enough to make him feel guilty. After all, the two of them used to be quite close. The sensation disappeared as the plane hit some turbulence, and Lynx was once again faced by a ruthless, remorseless killer.

Making an annoyed sound in the back of his throat, Lynx headed back to his seat, his mind wandering back to the mission at hand. As far as he knew, Ben had no part to play in the mission. There were only two other agents that Lynx would be meeting, and neither of their pictures looked anything like him. He silently wondered why the spy was on board.

"I'm going to be monitoring you at CIA headquarters," to Lynx's ire, Ben dropped into the seat across from him, apparently reading his mind. Lynx resolved to try to ignore him for the rest of the flight, but something dangerously close to interest must have shown on his face. Ben pressed on, determined. "We both have dangerous missions assigned, so please. Listen to me."

It must have been the pure desperation in the man's voice. Lynx found himself staring back at the spy, curious. Ben wasn't the type of person to beg, and he was teetering precariously at the border between asking and pleading. Lynx fixed Ben with a searching look, and for the briefest of moments, he saw a flash of uncertainty and fear on the spy's face.

"This is my first, real solo mission," Ben stated, his voice low. Lynx shook his head minutely. Before they had been partners, Ben had been by himself. The spy caught the small movement and leaned forward, clarifying, "If I fail this mission, the consequences are going to affect more than the people in MI6."

Lynx was right, then. He was being sent in as a distraction while Ben played the important role of obtaining a copy of the United States' weapon plans. The prospect of that suicidal mission made Lynx shudder. Ben wasn't Lynx's favorite person at the moment, but he was also like the brother Lynx never had.

"Don't get caught," he finally said, his tone a hybrid of exasperation and irritation. Ben grinned, and Lynx sighed, realizing that he'd practically given the man his implicit forgiveness. And perhaps Lynx had truly forgiven Ben, but there was no mistaking forgiveness versus forgetting. Everywhere Ben walked, Lynx saw the ghosts of those he killed. Curling his hand on the armrests of his seat, Lynx gave him another scrutinizing look. Life was too short for holding grudges, especially for the two of them. Lynx frowned at Ben, "Don't look at me like that. I'm still not going to forget what you did."

That seemed like enough to sate him. Lynx spent the rest of the flight in comfortable silence, listening to Ben prattle on and on about some girl he had met in London.

Ben was still a killer.

But, Lynx conceded, it was nice to have his dear friend back for the rest of both of their short lives.

A*W*O*L

"Mr. Morgan."

Dylan Morgan tried not to look as uncomfortable as he felt as he sauntered past the line of people waiting for their loved ones, out the door where his chauffeur and limo were waiting. He wore a simple, yet expensive white shirt, rolled up to his elbows, and black pants. It wouldn't have been too bad (after all, the clothes weren't expensive for no reason. His shirt was silky and soft on the inside) if it hadn't been for the angry sun, beating down on him. Already, he was sweating, and he silently cursed MI6 for not sending him shorts and a t-shirt instead. He hefted his duffel bag behind him. Maybe an agent had been kind enough to pack him something lighter. He was itching to open it and change into something else.

Dylan pushed the thoughts aside as his eyes landed on a familiar man. He—rather, Alex—had not met this man in person before, but the photo in the mission file was enough. Ray, an undercover CIA operative, was a portly, bald man with a heavy mustache that made him look like a cartoon villain. He wore a black suit and tinted sunglasses, looking as if the heat didn't affect him at all. His face was set in a frown, and Dylan got the distinct feeling that Ray would rather not be there. Honestly, Dylan didn't want to be there either.

"Ray!" Dylan smiled, letting the smile reach his eyes. It was one of the expressions that he had practiced over and over in the mirror until he had gotten it right. Back when he had friends (ah, the term was so elusive nowadays) Dylan would plaster his fake-genuine smile on his face, and no one knew any better.

"Mr. Morgan," Ray repeated, sounding vaguely disappointed as he took Dylan's duffle bag. "We're running late to your meeting with your father. In."

Dylan gave him another easy grin, "Dad won't mind. He's used to waiting, especially after Mom and I moved to London." He opened the door and slid in, grateful for the cool air inside the limo.

"Where are we meeting him?" Dylan opened the door again, quite suddenly. He only just missed hitting Ray directly in the nuts. He grinned gaily, pretending not to notice the exasperated, suffering sigh that came out of Ray's lungs.

"You'll see," Ray gave him a tight lipped smile and slammed the door shut. Luckily, Dylan had expected this and slid back so his face wouldn't receive another beating. He didn't recall ever being beaten with a limousine door, though. For a moment, he considered adding it to his list. That would be quite an experience.

"America," Dylan hummed as Ray slid into the driver's seat. The spy's accent was a perfect blend between English and American—yet another bit he had practiced. It was all in the details, Dylan thought, buckling his seatbelt. People unconsciously noticed these things, almost like noticing body language. It was a spy's job to emulate this. It was all just a great, big game of pretend. Dylan was good at pretending.

Dylan kept up a steady stream of conversation with Ray about meaningless things. How odd it was to be back in the States where people drove on the right side. How he'd grown used to rainy days. How he missed his dear dad even though his mom was better at cooking. Ray listened, and at the right times, threw in a couple of barbed retorts. Maybe to the outside ear, it sounded like Ray either absolutely hated him or this was their form of familiar banter. Dylan noted the truth: he was being evaluated. Maybe MI6 wasn't as trusted among the CIA as he had originally thought. It was halfway through the ride, when they were stuck in traffic, that the two spies fell silent, and Dylan realized he had passed the test.

"Take this," Ray said, extending a free hand through the window separating the two compartments. Dylan automatically reached for it.

"What is it?" Dylan examined the object in his palm. It was a small, black gem, the size of his thumbnail. It was round and had been cut so that there were angled surfaces on it. It was small enough to easily conceal, yet Dylan had a feeling he might as easily lose it.

"Your father went on a trip with his... lady friend. He wanted to bring you a trinket," Ray explained. "The locals said that this particular type of stone brings good luck. If you're ever lost, they say that if you press it three times, a spirit will be sent to guide you."

Dylan stared down at the gem, "Guide my spirit into the afterlife?"

Ray snorted, "They weren't specific on the details."

The younger spy flashed a smile to Ray, even though the chauffeur couldn't see it, "I'll make sure to thank Dad when I see him. Though I don't get why he couldn't have given it to me..."

Dylan knew exactly why, despite his contradictory statement. He turned over the stone in his hands again and slipped it into his pocket. The gem was a tracker, if he had interpreted Ray's folklore correctly. Definitely something he did not want to lose, given his track record of his missions going awry.

They turned into a small neighborhood, and Dylan instantly felt like a sitting target. They stuck out like a sore thumb in this rugged neighborhood, what with the expensive and sleek limousine. Dylan mentally shook himself. Supposedly, the Morgans were very well off. Why shouldn't he show off his—er, the Morgans'—wealth?

"We're meeting my dad here?" Dylan asked skeptically as they slowed to a stop in front of one of the rundown houses. It was two stories and would have been very nice if it hadn't been severely neglected. At one point, the house must have been white, but now it was tinted with several different colors—most conspicuously, red-brown splatters around eye-level. Dylan hoped they were Halloween decorations that nobody bothered taking down.

"He mentioned that he wanted to introduce you to one of his co-workers," Ray stated. "I'll drop off your baggage at the hotel and come back for you later."

"Sounds good," Dylan said, absentminded. He opened the door, wondering if he should take a weapon with him, just in case. No, he shook his head slightly. There was no reason for him to bring a weapon. If anyone found it, that would raise suspicions, and he would fail his mission before it even started. Besides, there was always the simple fact that Dylan didn't have any weapons with him.

"Dylan," Ray called, rolling his window down. "Be nice."

"When am I not?" Dylan sent the man a crooked grin and flounced off without a second glance behind.

Dylan's game was afoot, and for some unfathomable reason, he finally felt alive.


	20. Chapter 13,5

**A/N:** Right, before you guys yell at me for coming to you with only a half chapter, I swear I'm going to update on Sunday or Monday with a full chapter 14! Happy belated Thanksgiving:)

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Chapter 13.5

"He's gone."

Tiger barely glanced up at Panther, who was doing his best impression of a worried mother hen. His boots made heavy thumping noises against the wooden floor of the hut. Tiger froze, halfway through turning the page in his book, his eyes darting down to Panther's feet. Already, muddy footprints were making a guest appearance. Tiger frowned, ready to scold him.

"Why would he leave?" Panther continued, effectively cutting Tiger off. He spun on his heel and stomped his way back to the front of the hut, smearing the mud. "There's no reason, and if he were going out, he would've told us."

Tiger eyed the muddy footprints with distain before sighing and shutting his book, his finger still book marking the page, "Lynx isn't required to tell us anything."

"He is if he's going to leave the base!" Panther said, flinging a hand upward. "I've looked everywhere for him already. I swear, Tiger, he's not here."

"It's Sunday," Tiger tried to pacify him. Sundays were reserved as personal days, and J-Unit had an unspoken rule not to bother each other during Sunday mornings. It unofficially extended throughout the whole day, especially in Tiger's case. He needed time alone or else he would probably murder his unit-mates. Panther usually broke the rule but would always skedaddle before Tiger or Lion got too irritated. Lynx, Tiger had noticed, had a habit of disappearing for most of the day, though Tiger usually got a glimpse of him during meal times.

"But he's usually here when we wake up," Panther said firmly, crossing his arms. "He's gone. I can feel it. But where?" He muttered the last question to himself as he plopped down on his cot, a heavy sigh escaping him.

Where indeed, Tiger opened his book once more, pretending to become enraptured with the words. His mind, however, was far from the epic on the page. Instead, it wandered to a certain SAS soldier. Tiger frowned. That wasn't right. Lynx was a soldier under MI6's control. The thought wasn't comforting. MI6 wasn't exactly known for its honorable intentions–spies!—and for all Tiger knew, Lynx could be halfway across the world at this very moment.

"...can't just go running off like that..." Panther muttered under his breath, unlacing his boots. Evidently, he was going to wait.

Tiger mentally smacked himself for letting Panther's infectious anxiety creep up on him. There was no need to worry yet. Lynx was probably just having some alone time. He glanced at Panther, who was muttering to himself, throwing his boots across the hut to the door. Lord knew that he needed some time away from the unit.

Lynx had better turn up at dinner, he thought. If not, Tiger wasn't sure how long he could pretend to be ignorant. Lynx was obviously a man that valued his privacy and didn't give his trust easily. Tiger didn't want to betray him, but what other option did he have, if Lynx really was gone?

"Dammit, why can't you just tell them yourselves?" Tiger glared at the words on the page, frustrated.

"Tell what?" Panther perked up.

Tiger gritted his teeth, "Nothing, Pan. It's just the book."

If only it were.

* * *

 **A/N:** I'm off to plot and work on chapter 16. Yes, I apparently am withholding chapters from you...


	21. Chapter 14

**A/N:** As promised, Chapter 14 :)

* * *

Chapter 14

There was no reason to feel this much fear, Dylan told himself as he paused on the front porch of the dilapidated building. This was far from the first time he had been sent on a mission, and if MI6 had anything to say about it—which they did—this was far from his last.

He rubbed his clammy palms against his pants, searching for the doorbell. Curiously enough, there was none, and Dylan was left to knock on the door, wincing as the wood moaned wildly under his knuckles. Like everything else on the exterior of the house, it was nearly broken. Dylan stepped back, tilting his head backwards to observe the windows on the second floor. Like the first floor, the windows were boarded up with planks of fresh wood. He snorted quietly to himself. Really, it was like these SOP people wanted to draw attention to themselves.

Dylan started violently when the door was suddenly thrown open, the hinges screaming in distress.

"Dylan!"

Dylan plastered a grin to his face as a mousy, brown-haired man tumbled through the battered door way, tackling him into a hug. He wrapped his arms around the man, "Dad!"

For an uncomfortable moment, Tyler Morgan didn't let go. It was the length of a normal hug, Dylan told himself as he disentangled himself from his fake father's arms. He just wasn't used to affectionate physical contact. Save for Ian, Jack, and occasionally Ben (Tom didn't count, especially because nudging and punching was his form of affection and that was quite different from a hug) Dylan hadn't had anyone. Besides Panther, Dylan amended, but that was a different matter as the soldier enjoyed clinging onto him like a sloth and laughing manically as people stared.

"How was your flight, son?" Tyler asked, steering Dylan into the house. The sheer sight of the interior made Dylan want to wash his exposed skin continuously. The walls were stained random colors, which wasn't bad by itself, but it was accompanied by various types of mold and water stains. Upon further inspection, the random colors _were_ different types of mold.

Disgusted, Dylan refocused on his pseudo-father's face, "Long, but I slept most of the time."

A lie, but a harmless one. Tyler didn't seem to pay any attention as he steered Dylan towards an opening in the colorful walls. Stairs, Dylan realized.

"Good, good," Tyler replied absentmindedly. "I asked Ray to take you here because I want to introduce you to Rock. He's a member of the SOP, like me."

"Rock?" Dylan pulled the corners of his lips down and furrowed his eyebrows, as if confused—he wasn't supposed to know anything specific about the organization. However, from the files MI6 gave Dylan, Rock was a former soldier, and a good one at that. He wasn't 'all that bright' (the file's words—not his), but he was the closest thing to the SOP boss' right hand man.

"You'll see," Dylan had the distinct feeling that his fake-father was grinning at him as he pushed Dylan up the stairs. They creaked, bending slightly under his weight. "Don't step on that step—the termites got to it."

True enough, the wood on the seventh step was splintered and unsalvageable. Thankfully, there didn't seem to be any termites, but Dylan hopped over the step, resisting the urge to gag at the state of the house.

"Do you own this place?" Dylan hastily withdrew from the wall he was about to brush with his fingertips. "Have you given any thought to renovating this place?"

Tyler chuckled, "It's only a temporary location. The Boss and I are looking for a place for the new headquarters, but it's California. Everything is so damn expensive."

"I'm sure we can afford it," Dylan muttered dryly as he reached the last step and gave his shirt a little tug to straighten out the fabric.

"Down the hall," Tyler directed, "the last door."

It was cleaner upstairs. Oh, there was still mold and multi-colored splatters, but it seemed like someone tried to combat it by splashing bleach on the walls and scrubbing at places, then got bored halfway through. The only thing that seemed to be new was the door at the end of the hall, which was guarded by two, well-muscled men that were having difficulties standing side by side without touching the mess on the walls. Dylan almost pitied them until his eyes slid down to the military-grade weapons they were holding, index fingers resting on the trigger. Less sympathy. More wariness.

"My son, Dylan," Tyler explained to the two guards as their eyes fixated on him. "I'm introducing him to Rock: Boss' orders."

They apparently didn't have a problem with that as they awkwardly stood aside by facing each other, allowing Tyler to squeeze through. Dylan inched forward as Tyler knocked on the door. His knocks were muffled and muted, almost like the white, wooden door wasn't wood at all.

"Come in."

Tyler twisted the handle and scurried in, looking more and more like an excitable rat rather than a person. Dylan followed, closing the suspiciously light-weighted door after them. Upon further inspection, he realized the door was made of cheap wood—the kind that was almost similar to styrofoam—and painted white. And Dylan was under the impression that SOP had rich benefactors. He nearly snorted.

"Rock, this is Dylan, my son," Tyler used the palm of his hand to spin Dylan around and propel him forward into the cluttered room. On one side of the room, boxes of different sorts of papers—color coded, apparently—were stacked precariously on top of one another. On the other, there were crates of guns and even more crates of ammunition. It was enough for a small army, Dylan realized with a jolt. These people were preparing for war.

"He looked taller in the pictures," a man grunted back, half hidden behind a desk. It was more organized there. Papers were pushed off to the side and the desk was cleared off, save for an assault rifle, which the man, Rock, had been examining. "Come here, boy."

Dylan approached hesitantly, flinching slightly as Rock snagged a pistol from one of the boxes and slid a magazine into the open space between the magazine walls.

"Can you handle a gun?" Rock asked, a particularly nasty smile adorning his face. It might have looked like it belonged on the man's face if he hadn't had huge muscles with crude images tattooed on, a ripped, black leather jacket, studded with silver spikes, and a gun directed at Dylan's right knee. Dylan tensed, ready to launch himself backwards, if need be.

"I've had some experiences," Dylan replied candidly, pretending to be unconcerned with the way Rock's index finger twitched down to the trigger. "Dad taught me. It was a while ago, so I'm probably rusty."

"That needs to be fixed," Rock muttered gruffly before spinning the gun around and handing it to Dylan, grip first. "Keep it. You might not know when you'll need it."

Obediently, Dylan tucked the pistol into his waistband.

"Sit," Rock commanded, pointing at a chair that was sporting a box, overflowing with papers. Dylan spared a glance back to his father, who was grinning broadly at the two of them. He waved his hands in a 'go, go!' fashion. "You're British."

"English," Dylan corrected before he could stop himself.

Rock gave him an odd look, then slowly and deliberately spoke, "Yes, I'm speaking English."

"No, I mean—" Dylan didn't know whether nor not to laugh. He shook his head, trying to dispel the amusement, "I was born in America, but after Mom and Dad got a divorce, I moved to London with my mom."

"School?"

"I just graduated university last year," Dylan repeated the lie written in his file. "I've been accepted to attend law school at Stanford." Cue the puffed up look that made him look like a proud penguin. From Dylan's observations, this was the favorite look among rick folk.

"Where are you staying?"

Dylan raised his eyebrows, as if the answer to the question was obvious, "The same hotel Dad is. At least, until I can find a flat—sorry, apartment—I can rent out for the upcoming academic year." He turned to send Tyler a little scowl before facing Rock again, slumping his shoulders like a little kid that didn't get what he wanted, "Dad wouldn't let me buy a house."

"That's because you don't need one," Tyler let out an exasperated sigh behind him. "Besides, you agreed that we would use the money to buy SOP a new headquarters."

Dylan crossed his arms, scowling, "Doesn't mean I have to like it."

Rock held out a silencing hand before Tyler could argue back. Behind his heavy frowning lines, Dylan detected a spark of amusement—almost fond familiarity? His thoughts wandered back to the mission files. There hadn't been anything on Rock's personal life, but if that expression was anything to go by, the man must have a father-son relationship with someone. Dylan tucked the information into a metaphorical pocket in his mind. It was always good to collect information, no matter how small it seemed. _Pressure points,_ Jones liked to call them.

"I think the Boss is going to like you," Rock's mouth twitched into a menacing smile. He offered a beefy hand to Dylan, "Welcome to the mission, kid."

* * *

 **A/N:** As always, thank you for reading, reviewing, and giving this fic a chance. I know I've been super sporadic with my updating, but thank you for understanding. Chemistry and pre-med courses leave no room for creative writing, unfortunately. Anyway, good luck to you all in school, especially with finals coming up! Much love *MWAH*


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